The Precipice of Change
by Wyl
Summary: DA2: A cynical, taciturn rogue returns to Kirkwall. Three long years have passed since Bartrand's betrayal and Misery Hawke struggles to pick up the broken pieces of her life and find new purpose. Act II, sequel to 'Hurtled into Chaos'. Book 2 of 3.
1. Obsession

_This story covers Act II of DA2 and is a direct sequel to my previous story, 'Hurtled into Chaos' (which covered Act I). I wouldn't say it's mandatory to have read HiC for this one to make sense, but it'd be very helpful :)_

_You may or may not want to reference the map of Thedas for the various geographical references in this chapter. If you just Google 'Thedas map' you'll get to it right away._

* * *

_"We stand upon the precipice of change. _

_The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. _

_Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. _

_It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly." - Flemeth_

...

The door to The Hanged Man swung open just as another streak of lightning forked its way across the dusky sky. The accompanying boom of thunder came a moment later, hitting close enough to startle many in the crowded tavern. Wind gusted at the back of the weary traveler, pushing the door handle from her grasp. The door slammed against the interior wall, the loud _crack_ getting everyone's attentions.

"Close the blighted door!" Corff yelled from behind the counter.

Misery stared at the half empty glove covering her right hand, briefly scowling at the offending appendage before grabbing the door and shoving it closed. As she made her way through the main room, a man sitting at a table reached out and grabbed her arm.

"You can't bring that stinkin' dog in here!" he chided.

Another man at the table immediately piped up, "Tell 'em! Dog lords think they kin take their stinkin' mutts anywheres they go."

Misery yanked her arm free. _Red Iron… _she mentally noted. One of the better organized merc groups in the Free Marches. That didn't scare her, but it did give her pause when it came to escalating the situation. She was tired and hungry and really didn't feel like mixing it up with this guy suffering from a case of overinflated self-worth.

Revas, on the other hand, snarled at the man. Misery laughed lightly.

"He does have a point, you know?" she told her mabari in a teasing tone. "You could really use a bath."

Without sparing the men at the table another glance even as they continued to heckle her, she strode towards the back and then up the stairs. She frowned, however, when she saw the door to Varric's suite was closed. She checked the handle anyway, finding it locked, and briefly thought about picking the lock before changing her mind. Unless something changed in the last… what was it, ten months? …his door closed and locked at this time of evening meant he wasn't home.

Sighing, Misery lowered the hood of her cloak and ran her gloved fingers through her black hair. She'd really hoped Varric would be here. She missed her friend and had thought about him often. More practically she also wanted a meal and a bit of rest before making the climb up to the Hawke estate in Hightown, and would rather do that in his company outside the bustle of activity and noise of the main room.

Revas barked, getting her attention. She thought for a moment and nodded. "I'll be surprised if Isabela is still around. I mean, surely she's been able to get herself another boat by now? We can go check though."

After striking out as well at what at least used to be Isabela's room, Misery and Revas went back downstairs. Seeing Norah busy with a large table, Misery ignored the hollers from the Red Iron tables and made her way to the bar.

"Seen Varric around?" she asked Corff.

The bartender returned her smile. "Haven't seen ya in a long time, milady. Yer lookin' well."

Misery shook her head. "Stuff the 'milady', that nobility crap doesn't suit me."

"If ya say so. Anyway, far's I know Varric ain't anywhere special, could be back any time. Get ya sumthin' to drink?"

"Please… and some food. No stew."

"Want me to have sumthin' whipped up for the pup too?"

Revas barked, causing Misery to chuckle. "He'll be your best friend if you do," she said to Corff, eliciting a laugh from him. He poured her a pint and walked off to get the cook working.

While Misery stood at the bar nursing her ale and waiting, a man sidled up next to her.

"You know, it's not polite to ignore someone when they're talking to you," he said.

Misery glanced to her right and then back down to her ale. She recognized the guy as the leader of the Red Iron mercs, though she couldn't place his name. He had a hunting knife in a leather strap across his chest and a longsword hanging in a harness on his back.

"I'm not in the mood to be friendly," she warned. "I suggest you move along now."

The man chuckled, the kind of dismissive laughter that said her objections were of no concern to him. "Why don't you let ol' Meeran put you in a friendlier _mood_?"

Misery sighed in exasperation. "Shove off. Go bother someone else."

"A woman like you is far too beautiful to be so cold. What would it take to win your heart, I wonder?"

"I'll save you the trouble of wondering – there isn't one to win."

Not taking no for an answer, Meeran leaned in close enough for Misery to smell the whiskey on his breath. He slipped his hand inside her cloak and grabbed her rear. "Don't be li-"

Misery spun at the unwelcome contact, reaching across her body with her left hand and snatching the hunting knife from its sheath on his chest. What was left of her right hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it away and upwards. In the blink of an eye she drove the blade downward through the top of his hand, staking it to the bar counter.

Meeran screamed, as did several tavern goers standing nearby who witnessed it. Almost everyone within twenty feet of the bar scrambled to get away from the scene while the merc leader painfully worked the blade back and forth until it finally came loose from the wood and out of his bloodied hand.

In the commotion Misery didn't notice that someone entered through the tavern's front door right before a number of people made their hasty exit.

"You bitch!" Meeran shouted. "You don't know who you're messing with!" He grabbed a towel off the bar counter to stem the bleeding. The crowded tavern fell silent, with all eyes locked on to these two.

Misery dropped into a fighting stance, flicking her cloak off her shoulders and angling her body such that she couldn't be taken from behind by any of his men. The action also revealed the dagger strapped to her left leg and the knives on her belt above each hip, showing she was even more prepared than what the Nevarran shortbow and quiver on her back alone would indicate. Revas crouched low and growled while covering her side.

"I warned you to leave me alone," she hissed. "Next time you touch me it's your balls."

The merc leader scowled. "Who do you think you are threatening _me_, the fucking Queen of Blades?"

Knowing laughter came from off to the side. "Oh, just a little hawk named Misery," Varric answered while approaching. "Really, Meeran, you're getting sloppy."

Despite the flippant remarks, Varric was anxious. Misery had been away from Kirkwall for nearly a year this time, long enough that he'd finally stopped thinking about her on a daily basis. And when he did think of her, it was increasingly accompanied by negative emotions. He'd wondered quite a few times if he'd even ever see her again. But seeing her now stirred up a number of dormant feelings. He hoped this time she was back for good.

"You're Hawke?" Meeran asked, now sizing her up not as a potential sexual conquest but as a potential combatant.

Like many, he knew Hawke by reputation, though it was a reputation that had faded over time. Regardless, he wasn't going to accept being embarrassed in front of a crowd of tavern goers who were likely to repeat the story to anyone and everyone.

Misery's hard glare didn't falter. "I trust you don't need another demonstration."

Meeran sneered and stormed off, but not before offering a parting shot. "Don't think this is over." He motioned angrily to his men, who followed him out the door.

Varric shook his head. _Some things never change. _Without saying anything he started walking towards the stairs, figuring if she was here to see him she'd follow.

-==0==-

"When did you get back?" Varric asked as Misery entered the suite balancing two plates and a tankard.

She set one of the plates down on the floor for Revas and took a seat at the table where Varric was sitting.

"A couple of hours ago."

"Came in by ship I take it?"

Misery nodded. After taking a bite, she answered, "Yeah, hitched a ride from Antiva City on a merchant vessel. How did you know?"

"Saltwater," he answered, tapping the side of his nose for effect.

It was true that she carried the smell of the ocean, but also a convenient half-truth. Varric had plenty of spotters around the city, people not on his payroll and not directly linked to him, but who knew the kind of information he'd pay for. And the bounty he'd placed for reliable information on Misery Hawke was just as high as the one he had on Bartrand Tethras. She and Revas were barely off the dock before he knew she was in Kirkwall. And it was why he'd cut short a business meeting in order to hightail it back to The Hanged Man.

"Antiva though? That's a long way from home," he continued.

"I've been further," she answered with an indifferent shrug. "I was in Treviso before that. Across the bay in Dairsmuid, Rivain before that. Hit every major port on the way back. I've seen more of Thedas than I ever would have imagined."

"So…"

Misery shook her head and sighed bitterly. "No, he's still out there. I came close a couple of times, even caught a glimpse of him in Dairsmuid maybe six months back. Unfortunately, the situation was such that I didn't have my bow on me and had no chance of physically reaching him. One of his mercs probably spotted me, because after that he was long gone."

"How'd you end up that far northeast? I thought when you left here you were on your way west to the Nevarran capital?"

"The tip about Bartrand being in Nevarra City was good, but by the time I got there he'd already set sail. I hired a skiff and its crew and tried to follow, but stopping at almost every town along the Minanter River to ask after him made for slow going. In hindsight I should have raced ahead to the last port before the ocean and then backtracked if necessary."

Her expression turned to a slight glare. "If I didn't know better, I'd say our sources are supplying _him _with information as well. He's always on the run and conveniently manages to stay a step ahead of me. I don't know where he is now, but I _will _get him. He won't escape me forever."

Varric pushed away from the table. "Going for a drink…" he muttered while walking away.

While that was true, it was another convenient half-truth, an excuse to step away before he said something that would cause a fight. He was beyond frustrated at Misery's obsession with Bartrand. It wasn't that he himself didn't still want Bartrand dead. He hated his _former_ brother more than he ever had. It was that he'd long realized the cost of getting it done had grown far too high, well beyond any mere coin spent on the process.

What was once a loose end to be tied off was now a prison that bound his friend. He'd watched Misery slide further and further into madness, until ending Bartrand was her sole purpose in life. In the three years since the betrayal, Misery had spent a total of four months in Kirkwall, most of that in the first year. In the previous sixteen months she'd been home for all of two weeks, with this latest almost eleven month excursion coming directly on the heels of a five month outing preceding it.

Varric returned with a tankard and sat back down, observing her in silence while she ate. Her face and neck were even thinner than he remembered, almost unhealthily thin, and he guessed that she wasn't taking very good care of herself. Her windswept hair looked much the same as usual from the front, though she was wearing it longer in the back now. Instead of being cut short at the bottom of her neck, the wave of locks cascaded on to the top of her shoulders. The length in conjunction with the natural black color reminded him of Sunshine, and made him wonder if Misery intended that or if she simply hadn't gotten around to having her hair trimmed in awhile.

He also noted the small gold hoops closely hugging her ears just above the lobes. Piercings were definitely new. Even though they were understated, he found them somewhat interesting in that he never saw her as the type to care for adornments that drew attention to her. Well, not positive attention anyway. She rather liked being adorned with enough weaponry to make people take notice and keep their distance.

"Varric?"

The dwarf blinked, coughing uncomfortably as he realized he'd been caught simply staring at her.

"S-sorry… just haven't seen you in a long time. When did you get your ears done?"

She shrugged, missing his discomfort. "I kind of got adopted so to speak after helping a girl out of a predicament, and her mother insisted on rewarding me with these. I found out that piercings and tattoos mark social status and clan membership and such in Rivaini culture. So… you know the saying, 'When in Rivain, do as the Rivainis do'."

Varric laughed. "Is that how it goes? I thought it was 'What happens in Rivain stays in Rivain'."

"Yeah, there's probably that too. Dairsmuid is far less stuffy and uptight than Kirkwall, that's for sure. Someone there told me Llomerynn was even crazier, though I didn't go there myself."

"Well, Isabela is from Llomerynn, so that probably tells you all you need to know."

"Point."

After the shared laughter faded, Varric said, "They look good on you though. The earrings I mean."

She smirked. "Yeah, well, I drew the line there. So I suppose no one will mistake me for a true Rivaini since I didn't take a tattoo."

"Right… because clearly the light skin wouldn't have given that away."

Norah came into the room carrying a mug that she set down in front of Misery. "Here, top shelf brandy, on the house. You made my night a lot easier by clearing out most of the riff-raff down there."

"On the house?" Varric asked. "Corff is rewarding her for _costing_ him business?"

"Who said anything about Corff? My ass thanks her for giving that son of a bitch what he deserved, and Corff can kiss it if he has a problem with that."

Norah turned back to Misery. "Haven't seen you in forever. You finally back for good?" She knew enough to know Misery had been gone from Kirkwall for a long time, but not the reason for it.

"For a little while anyway, until I can get a solid lead on where to go next to find what I'm looking for."

Varric sighed. It was precisely the answer he hadn't wanted to hear.

A shout from downstairs drew a sigh from Norah for a different reason. "Well, impatient customers are impatient," she said, turning and leaving.

"So, what brought you by?" Varric asked after the barmaid left, trying to keep the frustration out of his otherwise neutral tone. "I mean, since you obviously haven't been home yet."

Misery started to smile and sincerely tell him that she'd missed him and didn't want to wait until the next day to see him, but the way the prior playfulness in his tone and expression had evaporated into a business-like one gave her pause. She held back the words she'd intended and instead offered a more restrained, practical explanation.

"I figured I'd get a meal and you'd catch me up on what I've missed, what's going on with everyone, and what I'm likely to walk into at the estate. I'll probably go see some of the others tomorrow."

It was exactly the wrong thing to say.

"Ahh… information. I see," Varric said, frowning slightly. His disappointment in her answer and knowing she intended to leave again fueled the anger bubbling to the surface. "You'll hear enough about current events just passing by the street criers on your way to Hightown, and you probably don't need me to tell you what your mother thinks of you not even bothering to send word that you were still alive in all the time you were gone."

He rose from his seat. "I have somewhere to be," he lied. "Lock the door when you leave."

Misery stared in disbelief as the dwarf moved to grab Bianca and his duster. "Wh-what just happened here?"

"Go home, Hawke. See your mother. I assume you remember where the estate is."

"Why are you being so pissy all of a sudden? All I did was ask what I'd missed. You know, making conversation?"

Varric's anger finally bested him. He whirled around and verbally unloaded on her.

"You want to know what you've missed?" he demanded. "Life! That's what! You waltz in here acting like you just got back from vacation up the coast, like the world has nothing better to do than stop and wait for you to catch up. It doesn't work that way! People give up waiting and move on."

"I was hardly _vacationing_, in case that point was lost on you!" she shot back.

"Like anyone knew where you were or what you were doing!"

"You may not have known where I was, but you damned well knew what I was doing!"

He scoffed. "Yeah, pissing your life away."

"Is that why you didn't go with me? Because you thought I was pissing my life away while you were doing something far more noble – raiding the Deep Roads?"

"I don't hear you complaining about the hundreds of sovereigns you have vaulted from those expeditions."

"There is more to life than coin!"

Varric let out a sarcastic laugh. "More to life… like the fact Sunshine was here for a month before moving to Ferelden and left bitter that the person she most wanted to see was nowhere to be found? Or that half of Hightown thinks the guard-captain is Leandra Hawke's daughter because they've never seen _you_? Or that a certain Dalish mage rarely leaves the alienage anymore because she's depressed that the human she cared most for abandoned her? That the others think you basically walked away from agreements to help them after they helped you? Is that the 'more to life' you mean, Hawke?"

Misery glared while getting up and gathering her cloak and bow. "Clearly I made a mistake thinking I'd find my friend here."

"Do you even remember who your friends are? Do you even remember what you're fighting for?"

"I live with what I'm fighting for every single day! _I _still remember what that bastard did!"

Varric shook his head. "And therein lays the problem. It's been three years! This obsession of yours with Bartrand is playing with madness. You're like the old ship captain wasting his life away chasing that damned whale across the ocean."

"Except this time the whale will not win!" she hissed in response.

"No, Hawke, you're wrong. The whale has already won. Look beyond the mirror and see what he's _really_ done to you. You haven't lived a day in three years. He owns you, and all you know is this need for revenge. Around the Merchant's Guild it's called 'throwing good coin after bad'. At some point you need to simply accept your losses and stop trying to recover them by pouring even more into a losing venture. Look, when you finally get him, will it even matter? Will it be worth having pissed away what could have been the best years of your life? Or will you still be this bitter woman who is afraid to move forward?"

Misery didn't bother answering. Instead she stormed from the room and down the stairs with Revas quickly following behind.

Varric let out a low growl, angry at himself as much as at her. He'd vented those thoughts privately numerous times, enough that it was practically a rehearsed speech at this point. But actually getting to deliver it brought no righteous satisfaction or sense of resolution. Instead it only angered him further that he'd cared enough to bother trying to get through to her, and that it still amounted to nothing.

Spying the still full mug of brandy, he hung Bianca back on the wall and snatched the mug from the table, downing the liquor in a few large gulps. Then he slammed the empty mug back down on the table.

He took a deep breath when he heard footsteps from behind entering his suite, wondering if Misery came back to say anything else. But when he turned around it was Norah standing there, and in the moment he missed the pang of disappointment that shot through him.

"I can tell that certainly went well," Norah said sarcastically.

Varric waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter, she got what she came for."

"Oh? She came here for a scolding and to be sent away on the verge of tears?"

"Pfft… whatever," he said, assuming her to be exaggerating about the tears. "She said it herself, she came to find out what she'd missed. And I told her."

Norah smirked. "Huh, so dwarven men are just as stupid as human men when it comes to women."

"Not really in the mood right now."

"Fine," she answered while picking up the plates from the table and floor. "But let me leave you with this. I don't know what she might have told you, but I saw that gleam in her eyes when she was asking Corff if you were around, and again when I came in earlier. She was here to see _you_, stupid. Though only the Maker knows why."

With that parting shot she turned and left Varric to contemplate that thought.

-==0==-

Misery took a deep breath, attempting once again to calm her rattled nerves. The hike to Hightown had done nothing to help since while inside The Hanged Man the threatening skies had finally opened up, leaving her and Revas drenched to the bone by the time they reached the estate.

Finding the front door locked and not having bothered to take a house key on her journey, she knocked and waited for someone to answer.

"Wish me luck," she muttered to Revas, who barked in reply.

It wasn't long before the small viewing panel slid back and a man asked in a formal but pleasant tone, "May I ask who is there?"

Misery shook her head, wondering why the old dwarf even bothered with the peephole when he was too short to see through it anyway. Though she also knew that even if he could, he would likely still need to ask her identity, as her dark attire blended well with the dark, stormy night.

"Revas Hawke," she answered, her tone laced with sarcasm. The mental image of how confused Bodahn must be was almost enough to make her crack a momentary grin.

When the silence from the other side of the door lingered, however, her patience with standing outside in the rain quickly ran out.

"Bodahn, open the fucking door already!"

The door cracked open slowly. "Messere Hawke? Is that really you?" he asked.

Misery pushed the door the rest of the way open and barged into the foyer. Revas came in with her and made a beeline for the front of the fireplace in the main hall.

"Messere! It is you! Oh, Mistress Leandra will be so pleased to see you've come home!"

"I doubt that, but thank you for saying so."

She took her cloak off and hung it over his extended arm. After a short bow he quickly scurried away to hang it and to let the elder Hawke know her daughter had arrived.

Even though Misery had always found Bodahn to be a busybody and didn't really understand why he'd sworn himself to her service just because she'd sort of but not really rescued his boy Sandal in the Deep Roads, she was grateful for him nevertheless. The dwarf's gentle demeanor and seemingly boundless energy for his age made him a perfect house servant for her mother. Misery didn't worry about the day-to-day busywork of keeping up the estate while he was around.

Misery went to stand in front of the fireplace with Revas, slipping off her soaked gloves and boots and setting them down to begin drying out. A minute later she tensed at the audible gasp from the top of the stairs behind her.

"Mireille!"

She turned her head slowly to see her mother practically running down the stairs. There were tears in the older woman's eyes as she wrapped her dripping wet daughter in an embrace.

"Oh, I can't believe it is really you… no one knew if you were dead or alive… or imprisoned somewhere… I didn't know if I would ever see you again… what happened?"

Misery sighed, cynically thinking that this would also turn into a scolding as soon as the shock wore off.

"I wasn't imprisoned. Though I'm wanted dead or alive in the Antivan city of Bastion, and have a fairly sizable bounty on my head up the coast from there in Salle."

"Antiva? Maker! What were you doing?"

"Mother… you should let me go put something dry on before you end up as wet as me."

"I am not letting you go. If I do you might leave again."

Misery raised an eyebrow curiously at the sense of desperation in the older woman's voice, but didn't press the issue.

"I chased Bartrand from Nevarra across the Marches to Antiva to Rivain. And in the end, despite me killing at least two dozen of his hired mercenaries along the way, he has still managed to elude me. For now he has gotten away, but I will find him."

Leandra pulled back but still held on to her daughter's shoulders. "You mean to say… you really do mean to leave again?"

"What else can I do? I swore I would kill that bastard, and I keep my promises."

"Promise me then that you will stop this foolishness… Promise me that you will stay here, where you belong."

Misery scowled. "What am I supposed to do? Just hang around playing at nobility and forget that the person responsible for everything I lost is still out there? I'm supposed to just let him get away with it?"

Leandra took a step back, feeling uncomfortable with the almost wild expression on her daughter's face.

"Everything? No, Love… Bartrand was not responsible for your father, for Carver. He did not destroy our farm in Lothering, or even make Bethany a Grey Warden."

Leandra took a deep breath and stepped forward, taking her daughter's crippled hand in hers.

"I think you have turned Bartrand into this… _thing_ that represents everything that has ever gone wrong in your life. Killing him will not bring anyone back from the dead. It will not heal your hand, or make up for anything else you have lost. So please… let go. For your own sake as much as for mine."

Misery closed her eyes briefly, resisting the urge to lash out in frustration. No one understood, or so she thought. She wasn't stupid, she knew killing Bartrand wasn't going to undo the past. That wasn't the point. It didn't even matter that killing him wasn't going to make her feel better about anything. She already knew that too.

What mattered was ensuring Bartrand never had a moment's peace, that betraying her wasn't rewarded. He wasn't going to cash in on a life of luxury paid for with her blood. How dare anyone suggest Bartrand owned her? Any fool could see that _she _owned _him_. His life was already forfeit, nothing but the fear and uncertainty of when she'd finally catch up to him and end it.

Besides, something else people didn't seem to understand was that there was no longer any emotion when she thought of Bartrand personally. She had no burning desire to carve him up into little pieces, to make his death as excruciating as possible. Dead was dead, and she would be just as content to take his life instantly by putting an arrow he never saw coming through his brain as she would driving a dagger through his throat up close and personal. Her emotions were tied up in the need to complete the task, not in the actual execution of it.

Finally Misery let out a slow breath and opened her eyes. "I will consider your words," she answered noncommittally. "I'm very tired, so if it is alright with you I'd like to get a warm bath and retire. Let me get some rest and we can spend tomorrow catching up."

Leandra nodded reluctantly. "Of course, Love. I… I will see you in the morning then."

-==0==-

Freshly bathed and changed, Misery closed the door to her room on the way in and flopped on the bed, sighing deeply while trying to will the stress away. After several minutes of absentmindedly staring around the room, her eyes settled on the desk, or more specifically the short stack of correspondence sitting on top of it.

She went over and thumbed through it, quickly realizing that almost none of the letters were something she cared to read right now. The lone exception was a folded sheet sealed with no other markings than the Hawke seal. Given what Varric had yelled at her, it was obviously something Bethany left for her.

With a sigh she grabbed the letter opener from the desk and slit the seal before moving back to the bed to read.

_Miri,_

_Should you ever actually see this, where in the Void have you been? _

_You know I would never wish anything bad on you, but thinking that something terrible happened would almost be preferable to thinking you broke your promise to take care of Mother. Taking care of her is far more than setting her up in the estate with coin and a servant! And it's more than relying on your friends to step in and do the things YOU should be here doing!_

_If you're reading this, I hope it means everything is done. I hope it was worth it to you, because you've made a mess of things here. I know it has been roughly two years since the last time I was able to visit you in person, but I didn't realize you'd spent hardly ANY time in Kirkwall since then. And I was shocked to find out how little our friends think of you now. You let things go too far, and have left a lot of broken pieces to pick up._

_As for me, I am content with my life as a Grey Warden. There are a number of things about it to hate, but in hindsight I probably would still make the trade for what I have gained. I did something yesterday that would have been unfathomable in my previous life. With two other wardens I walked into the Gallows openly a mage, with nothing to fear, hide, or be ashamed of. I was untouchable even as I laughed in the knight-commander's face when she acted like she could prevent us from looking for recruits among the mages and implied I should submit myself to the Circle. The only thing that would have made it better would have been actually taking a mage with us. But even then, it was OUR decision not to recruit anyone and not hers._

_I'm sure you know by now that I've moved to Ferelden, but there you go. Because the Grey Wardens in different nations are independent of each other, transferring is complicated and surprisingly political. I'd made myself almost too valuable here, so even though I wanted to go to Ferelden and they wanted to have me, the Fereldan Wardens had to both come up with adequate "compensation" in exchange and actually send a contingent to escort me back. _

_The latter caused most of the delay as apparently some complications in Ferelden made it difficult for them to spare anyone to come get me. I imagine I will hear more details on that once we are on our way._

_The whole thing makes me feel like livestock being swapped at market, but it's done. And it makes me feel good that the warden-commander himself came from Ferelden. Funny though, the warden that Alistair brought with him, Nathaniel, once lived in Kirkwall for a year and actually knew Varric! _

_Oh, before I forget… I mentioned Anders to them and got a rather unsettling reaction to that. They wanted no part of seeing him and catching up on old times. I'm hoping they'll tell me what happened once we leave Kirkwall, but for now all I have is a rather cryptic warning to be very, very careful with him. They know I know about Justice, so it must be something more than that. Anyway… if it's even relevant by the time you read this, be careful._

_I'm running out of page here, so I should stop now. I pray this finds you well._

_Your very disgruntled sister who loves you anyway,_

_~Bethany_

Misery crumpled the page and tossed it in the direction of the desk before laying back and closing her eyes.

"This is a fucking conspiracy…" she grumbled out loud to no one in particular since she was alone.

"I will… do what I must…"

-==0==-

Misery spun and slashed with the dagger in her left hand, breathing loudly from the exhaustion of extended exertion. Her foe, another straw sparring dummy, absorbed the blow without complaint, holding itself together for now. Three other less fortunate ones were shredded, strewn about the floor of this part of the wine cellar that she'd converted to a training room.

Unbeknownst to the single-minded raging female rogue, she'd had an observer for the last several minutes. It wasn't the blend of grace and fury driving her movements that had halted him in his tracks and left his eyes wide and mouth agape. After all, he took her skill for granted at this point. What captivated him was her appearance.

Training alone in her wine cellar, Misery hadn't given modesty a second thought. She wore only a short white chemise that she'd inelegantly cut the sleeves off of, and her knife belt. The sweat soaked, nearly sheer garment clung to what little skin it covered given its low cut at the top in addition to only reaching down to the top of her thighs. She hadn't even bothered with footwear or gloves.

_Maker's breath is she beautiful,_ he thought. Desire rapidly welled up within him, though as soon as he became consciously aware of the physical reaction she was unknowingly provoking, feelings of embarrassment and guilt washed over him even more heavily. He suddenly felt terrible for witnessing her like this without her permission, let alone knowledge that he was even there. He forced himself to turn his head and look away.

The clattering of a blade hitting the ground followed by a long string of expletives from Misery cursing her hand for dropping the knife it attempted to stab the straw dummy with caused him to jump slightly in surprise. The noise was enough to alert Misery to his presence, however, and she shrieked in surprise of her own.

He glanced in her direction to see the wrath in her eyes. She grabbed a small canister off her belt and shattered it on the ground in front of her. The smoky discharge quickly dissipated, leaving him facing Misery as she simply stared stone faced at him.

Or so he thought.

The air in front of him suddenly rippled, and before he could even blink he was in a headlock from behind with a knife to his throat.

"_Why _are you here?" she hissed in a low voice near his ear.

Varric gulped, though only slightly because too large of a gulp would result in being cut. He was still staring at a very stoic Misery nearly thirty feet away, yet she was also behind him with a knife to his throat.

"T-to talk," he said. "H-how are you-"

"Close your eyes and count to three before reopening them," she answered, interrupting his question.

The dwarf did as he was told and when he opened his eyes he saw the Misery in front of him was gone. However, the currently more dangerous one was still present.

"How?" he asked again, his tone filled with bewilderment. "Was that… magic?"

"Shut up and tell me what you want."

"Ummm… I'd ask how it makes any sense to both shut up and talk at the same time, but… you were both here and there at the same time and that makes no sense either."

Misery growled slightly. "Close your eyes again until I tell you to open them."

When he did, she let him go and moved away. This time his eyes were closed for half a minute, and when she finally told him he could open them, he did to see her standing in front of him wearing a maroon robe with gold trim.

"Ahhh…" he said sarcastically, "and here I was beginning to wonder if the whole fighting half-naked bit was just a Rivaini thing. Between you and Isabela, people might be too distracted to actually fight though."

He gestured to the destroyed sparring dummies on the ground. "So, which one of them was me?"

His playful tone sought both to lighten the mood and to delicately probe for how upset she was at him. Her glare intensified as she immediately pointed at one with its head and arms severed.

"Ouch…" he said, chuckling a bit nervously at the intensity of her reaction.

"_What _do you _want_?" she reiterated, folding her arms across her chest. "I thought you made it rather clear the other day where we stood."

It had been three days since she returned home. Varric, suspecting she wasn't going to be visiting The Hanged Man anytime soon, had decided to stop by on his way to the Merchant's Guild in Hightown.

He shook his head, though more as a physical reaction to everything he'd seen in the last few minutes than in response to her words.

"I… didn't want things to end the way they did. I'm not going to stand here and lie to you that I didn't mean what I said, but… I shouldn't have exploded at you the way I did."

His eyes shifted to his feet as he continued, "Look, it's just been a very frustrating last couple of years. I hate Bartrand for what he's done to you, and I don't just mean your hand. And I hate him for… taking my friend from me. I've missed her… a lot."

"I've never stopped being your friend, Varric."

"It feels that way. You know, I've found it rather ironic that for as much as you stressed about me not sticking with you after that first expedition, it ended up being the other way around."

"I wanted you to go with me. You refused. Don't forget that."

Varric closed his eyes briefly. "Let's not argue about that again."

"So, you want to argue about something else instead?" she asked matter-of-factly.

He shook his head. "No… I just thought…" He stopped and sighed. "Never mind. I guess I should go. For what it's worth, I'm sorry that I took my frustration out on you instead of telling you the other truth… that I was also so excited when an informant tipped me off to your arrival that I literally ran two dozen blocks back to The Hanged Man to see you. And you know I'm much more of a sprinter than a marathoner. Anyway, I was just so glad you were back. And I still am… even if it doesn't show because I don't like that you're leaving again."

Misery ran her fingers through her hair. "I couldn't figure out what had sent our conversation careening off the tracks. But that was it, wasn't it? When I said I was only going to be around until I found out where he was?"

When Varric merely nodded, she sighed in exasperation. "Don't think I haven't figured out this conspiracy you all have going to guilt me into staying put."

The dwarf laughed in disbelief. "Conspiracy? There's no conspiracy, Miz. Just people who want what's best for you… and are crazy enough to actually want you around."

"Crazy indeed…" she replied sarcastically before a more serious expression tool hold. "Anyway… I made The Hanged Man my first stop mainly because I didn't want to wait to see you either. You're kind of… important to me."

Varric took and released a deep breath. "Then prove it. Stop spending your life chasing Bartrand all over Thedas."

A sad smile took hold on Misery's face. "I'm not ready to promise that," she admitted softly.

He wondered if the way she phrased her answer meant that she was at least trying to get over her obsession.

"Can we at least agree that there's no more disappearing for months at a time? I mean, it's one thing if you know exactly where he is, go there, and come back. But the obsessive hunting is entirely different. You need to give that up. I need at least that much."

Her first instinct was to lash out angrily for him placing conditions on his friendship, and a younger Misery would have even though she'd done the same to him years ago. But for as damaged as the almost twenty-eight year old female was psychologically, she'd also matured in some ways from the girl whose existence was to protect and provide for her family. One of those ways was being in much greater touch with her emotions and with her connections to others.

So instead of lashing out at Varric, she recognized it as a compromise she could live with in exchange for something she wanted, and finally nodded slowly in understanding. "I can give you that much."

He let out a slow breath in relief. "Alright then, I'll take it. Sold."

After silence settled in, his thoughts drifted back to earlier. "Hey… when you did that thing before where there were two of you… are you… a mage now too?"

Misery smirked. "No, not magic, though the decoy _is_ an illusion of sorts. It's a trick I learned from an old Crow in Antiva. The illusion doesn't last long and is easily broken if the victim knows what they're looking at, but not many do. It's one of a few new tricks I picked up in my travels."

Varric returned the smirk. "Probably for the best it isn't magic. The Chantry might collapse or something if someone was both a mage and a templar at the same time. I'm pretty sure Blondie's head would explode at least when he found out."

After their shared laughter died down, Varric said, "Hey, I need to run over to the Guild for awhile. How about you get cleaned up while I do that and I'll stop back by in a couple hours to get you when I'm done? There are a few things going on that might be interesting to look into. Or if you just wanted to go visit someone we could do that too."

It was his indirect way of saying he wanted to spend time with her if she was up for it.

"Interesting to look into as in work?" she asked.

"Possibly… it's not like we _need _to work, but if it's profitable while being fun, all the better, right?"

Misery laughed lightly. "Your love of coin will be your undoing, V. But sure, Revas and I will be ready to go."


	2. Back in the Kirkwall Groove

A sharp intake of breath from the main room below drew Misery's attention as she worked on fastening the leather sheath to the outside of her left leg.

"Revas!" Aveline exclaimed a moment later. "Is… she here?" The mabari barked in response.

Misery didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed by the guard-captain's astonishment, but she left her room and went to the railing overlooking the main room.

"Aveline," she offered with a single wave of her hand before moving to and down the stairs to join her.

"You just get back?" Aveline asked.

"A few nights ago. I'm guessing by your reaction you weren't coming to see me."

Aveline shook her head. "No, I check in on Leandra two or three times a week. I… quite frankly doubted you were coming back. As long as it had been, I figured you were either locked up or dead. Why haven't you come to see me since your return? It isn't more than a five minute walk from here to my office."

Misery shrugged. "Haven't gone to see anyone yet. The way I hear it, no one really gives a shit if they see me or not anyway."

"You can hardly blame anyone but yourself for that. This last time, Varric was the only one you even told you were leaving. Fenris hadn't even known you were back from the prior trip before you were gone again. Even Leandra had to find out from a note you left under her bedroom door."

Misery sighed and turned her head. "Mother!" she shouted loudly. "Aveline is here for you!"

"Thank you for keeping an eye on her," she continued, intentionally changing the subject. "I do appreciate it."

Aveline resisted the urge to tell her that someone had to do it, knowing it was both unnecessarily petty and that she would've visited Leandra regularly even if Misery was around. Instead she asked, "How have you been? Finally bag your quarry?"

Misery sighed again while shaking her head. She began telling the story, already dreading the thought of having to repeat it over and over to the others. By the time she finished, her mother had joined them.

The rogue fell silent as the conversation shifted in focus to the other two women. She didn't mind at all no longer being the center of attention, but she frowned slightly at the realization that the two women spoke with the same type of comfortable familiarity that Bethany and Mother used to, which brought to mind the scathing remark Varric leveled at her about people thinking Aveline was Leandra's daughter.

Misery wasn't sure how to feel about _still_ being the "child" relegated to the background, the one who was quickly called on when something needed to be done, but was rarely sought out on a more personal level if her other siblings were around. She had enough self-awareness to know it was hypocritical to be bothered by being the odd one out again given not only her own extended absences, but the way she'd practically encouraged being left alone for so many years. Still, something irked her about the situation anyway, even though if she was paying attention she'd realize that for as close as they were, Leandra and Aveline didn't have a mother/daughter relationship.

"Hmm?" she asked, guessing by the two women staring at her that while thinking she hadn't heard a question addressed to her.

Aveline shook her head. "I just asked what you were up to today. You're obviously gearing up to go out… hopefully not to find trouble."

Misery overlooked the barb in the interest of getting the conversation over with. "Varric stopped by earlier and asked if I'd check out a couple things with him after he finished with some Guild meeting, but that's all I know. I wouldn't be surprised if he plans to drag me around visiting people."

"Make sure you go see Merrill," Leandra half suggested, half ordered. "I worry about her. She used to visit me regularly, but it has been awhile. Aveline has checked on her a few times and says she is quite melancholy."

Aveline nodded. "Best I can tell, Merrill rarely leaves the alienage anymore, and I wonder how much she even gets out of that hovel of hers. Last time I was there it was in complete disarray with books strewn about. She said she's been busy working on restoring a piece of Dalish history, but it seemed more than that."

Misery nodded absentmindedly. "I'll check on her. If not today, tomorrow."

Without saying anything else Misery went back upstairs to finish getting ready, leaving the other two women to talk. When she returned ten minutes later, Aveline was on one knee petting Revas and Mother could be heard in the adjoining library speaking with Bodahn.

Aveline glanced up at her approach. "Your mother needs you, you know," she said softly.

"So I hear…" Misery answered, waving for Revas to follow as she continued towards the door. Aveline got up and followed her outside before grabbing her arm to stop her.

"I'd put my boot in your ass, but I doubt there's any room left with your head stuck so far up there. What is wrong with you?"

Misery smirked, though there was no amusement in her cold expression. "Oh, I'm sure you already have a lecture ready to answer that question yourself. Seems everyone does."

Aveline eyed the other woman carefully. "Is that why you're acting like this? How exactly did you expect people to react when you were gone for so long, when you're apparently planning to leave again? What does it take to convince you that you're wrong about this, if you won't listen to your friends and family?"

"Wrong? Or simply not doing what others think I should be doing?" The more she was being pushed, the more she was mentally digging in her heels in defiance.

"Wrong. What happened to the woman whose family was everything to her?"

"She failed. Miserably, in case you forgot."

Aveline sighed in resignation that this conversation was going nowhere. "Look, I'm your friend… I'm just trying to help. If you ever need someone to lean on, you know where to find me."

The guard-captain took a few steps back towards the Viscount's Keep before stopping and turning back around.

"Hey, Hawke? You said you and Varric were going to check a couple things out. You interested in taking some work off my plate?"

Misery resisted the urge to roll her eyes in response. She cynically believed _this _was why most people cared if she was around, because of what she could do for them. Instead she shrugged, silently prompting Aveline to continue.

"There's a templar, Ser Emeric, who has it in his head that every random woman murdered over the last few years is connected, and he won't let it go."

"Why would a templar care about that? It isn't really under their jurisdiction."

Varric came around the corner to see the two women talking. He waved his hand as he approached but didn't interrupt.

"Exactly!" Aveline huffed. "Emeric is an older man apparently with too much free time on his hands. Why can't he spend his declining years building a boat?"

"I assume you at least checked out his claims?" Misery asked.

"Of course… invested far too many man hours following up. Even had the DuPuis mansion raided at Emeric's insistence. The only thing that came of it was a shitstorm that made me have to formally apologize to DuPuis on behalf of the Guard and Emeric to be formally reprimanded by the knight-commander. Jackass…"

Misery had been listening with only marginal interest until the name DuPuis was mentioned. Instantly this became her top priority.

"Where can I find Emeric?"

"The Gallows. As I said, he's an older man, and I get the impression he's been a templar here for a long time. So probably any templar you see in the courtyard can direct you his way. I appreciate this, Hawke. If it turns out to actually lead somewhere, let me know and I'll take it back from you."

Misery flashed a very misleading grin. Aveline took it to mean she was amused by being asked to do only the boring, tedious part. Varric was curious about Misery's rather abrupt change in demeanor, but didn't know what to make of her going from bored and aloof one moment to highly engaged the next. He hoped she would tell him what caught her interest.

The reality was that Misery could hardly contain her anticipation. She desperately hoped Ser Emeric could get her into DuPuis' estate. From there, well… his guilt or innocence in these murders was irrelevant as far as she was concerned. Her obsession with Bartrand may have pushed DuPuis to the back of her mind, but she'd never completely forgotten his vicious sexual assault or her vow for revenge. The chance to put that to rest was easily enough to distract her mind from Bartrand in the short-term.

"Call it a hunch," Varric began while observing her body language, "but I'm guessing Aveline just jumped the queue on me?"

Aveline shrugged. "That's up to Hawke."

Varric crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to be stern.

"Varric… I…"

He began to laugh. "Ahhh, I'm just shitting you. Come on."

Misery blew out a slow breath, trying to suppress her anxiety. She was getting angry with herself at how easily the long repressed feelings inflicted upon her by DuPuis resurfaced against her will.

"Misery?" he asked at her overly serious expression in response to his humor.

"I'm alright… we can go."

Varric raised an eyebrow curiously, wondering why she made that statement. However, he decided to wait to see how things went before asking her about it.

Aveline raised an eyebrow for a different reason. It just dawned on her how lightly armed Misery was, at least in comparison to what she equipped in the past. Now the rogue wore only a single dagger on the outside of her left leg and had knives mounted horizontally on her belt above each hip.

"You don't carry a bow or a second dagger anymore?" Aveline asked.

Misery scowled slightly. "I eventually had to accept that wielding an offhand blade is more of a liability than an advantage. Because of my hand I'm too prone to being disarmed anytime the blade collides with something. I'll still use a knife in my offhand on occasion against quicker, lightly armored foes, but it's usually more for show than function."

"As far as my bow," she continued, "I simply don't feel like taking it with me just to go around town talking to people."

"How's your shooting?" Varric asked. "A year ago you were still having difficulty getting a consistent draw."

"Better… it's taken me a long time to relearn how to shoot. People think archery is the simplest thing in the world – just grab the bowstring, pull, and release. There are so many individual parts working together to fire an arrow, and it's been as much a mental process as a physical one to undo twenty years of ingrained technique in order to maintain a consistent, balanced draw of the bowstring without my ring finger. I don't have the hand strength necessary for the heavier pull of a longbow, but I can mostly manage a shortbow now. Mainly my hand tires much quicker, and as it does my accuracy suffers."

Aveline nodded solemnly. "For close combat, have you ever considered going sword and board like me? Your hand wouldn't be a hindrance to using a shield and I know you're strong enough to wield a longsword."

"I thought about it, and I did have some training in that fighting style back in Ferelden. But a longsword feels too sluggish to me, especially being so used to the quickness of daggers. I experimented with one of those small handheld shields–a buckler–in my offhand in place of a blade, but I wasn't any better at holding on to it either."

"I can understand that about a buckler, but a regular shield is worn on your arm," Aveline pointed out.

"I don't like shields and couldn't carry one and a bow at the same time anyway, but something else I've considered is replacing the leather vambrace on this arm with a heavier one that could be used both for defense and as a weapon. What I probably should do… I still have a fair amount of the dragonbone Bodahn brought back from the Deep Roads for us… I should have a blade made that's about halfway between the length of a dagger and a longsword. A shortsword like that would pack more power than a dagger without sacrificing too much speed in the process."

Aveline smirked. "Or you could, you know… stop going around getting yourself into fights to the death."

Varric scoffed. "It's getting hard again to do that in Lowtown, especially at night."

"What do you mean?" Misery asked.

"Gang activity has been on the rise for awhile. The Guard isn't keeping up." He stared the guard-captain in the eyes and said, "Kirkwall needs its Shadow again."

"Don't even think about it!" Aveline growled. "We're doing the best we can."

Varric shook his head. "I told you two years ago you needed to finish cleaning house of Ewald's and Jeven's leftovers. Yet you _still_ have guards handling their business the way they did under your predecessors."

"It's not that easy, Varric! There are minimum numbers needed for a functional City Guard, and it's not as if we have qualified candidates standing in line waiting for a job. I can't simply 'clean house' without having viable replacements. We wouldn't even have the appearance of force then."

Misery folded her arms across her chest. "Appearance of force? When did Aveline Vallen start caring more about the way things look than the way things are? When did she decide honor was optional?"

The scathing retort building in Aveline's gut died by the time it reached the tip of her tongue. She sighed deeply.

"You know what the viscount's office is like…" she said, her tone reflecting bitterness and resignation. "And with tensions continuing to rise over the Qunari still sitting in that damned compound down by the Docks, the viscount and seneschal are as paranoid as ever about the Guard being a strong show of force… as a deterrent to violence."

She sighed again. "Misery, I'm in an impossible situation here. I _know _I have corrupt guards, some worse than others. I couldn't clean house after replacing Jeven. The risk of inciting mutiny was too high and what would have been left of the Guard too little to maintain order. I've ensured that my lieutenants and sergeants are clean and buy into what we're doing, which minimizes the influence of the bad apples."

Shaking her head she continued, "And I don't just accept or ignore the corruption. When I find out about a guard on the take or not doing their job, they're formally reprimanded and punished. I keep files on all my guards. Not only do repeat offenders get increasingly harsher punishments, they get let go when our numbers are above minimum. That doesn't make Dumar happy, which in turn doesn't make Bran happy. Maker knows I wish the number of guardsmen was much higher than the bare minimum, even if it was only to stop the viscount's office from bitching at me regularly that there aren't enough guards, but they at least grudgingly accept that the Guard under my leadership has a much better reputation than it did in the past. And trust me… if we're ever called into a real battle, the less honorable ones are going to be the frontline fodder."

"With all of that," Misery began, "why do you care if someone is taking care of the crime problem your guards can't or won't deal with?"

"Appearances," Varric said immediately, answering on the guard-captain's behalf. "The illusion of control is broken when the Shadow draws too much attention to the Guard's failings."

"Something like that…" Aveline conceded. "But it's not like you were even a proper vigilante. Killing for coin made you no better than your victims. That it benefitted Kirkwall was merely a side effect, not your intent."

Misery laughed sarcastically, though it wasn't in response to Aveline's matter-of-fact assumption regarding her. Though Misery had never actually owned up to being the Shadow, she'd never outright denied it either. It eventually became understood between them that Misery had been the Shadow and that Aveline wasn't going to do anything about it.

"So if I just happened to be walking around Kirkwall at night, and just happened to be targeted by thugs looking for an easy mark, and just happened to kill them in self-defense, it would be okay as long as I wasn't profiting from it?"

"It doesn't have to make sense to you," Aveline replied. "And I'm sure Leandra would appreciate it even more than me if you wouldn't go out of your way to make yourself a target."

Varric shrugged. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't go around killing for the fun of it, and she doesn't need the coin, so I'm guessing you aren't going to have to worry about that."

He didn't intend his earlier dig at the City Guard to be taken as a suggestion that Misery personally do something about it, and he hoped Misery would get that point without it coming across as trying to make a decision for her. He suspected she was getting enough unsolicited advice as it was.

"Regardless," Aveline said, "Misery knows the deal. No preferential treatment. She behaves as a criminal she'll be treated as a criminal. That goes for you too, Varric. I'd rather have you as friends, so work with me on this."

Misery smirked. "If you two are done talking about me as if I wasn't standing here, then Varric and I will go speak with Emeric."

Aveline nodded. "Be safe."

-==0==-

"Fine…" Misery grumbled in response to Varric's suggestion that they check out the merchant stalls in the Gallows Courtyard while waiting on Ser Emeric to return with the key to the servant entrance of Gascard DuPuis' Hightown estate, a key that the templar made no apologies for _acquiring _under dubious circumstances. With Emeric on his way to retrieve the key from his quarters, what Misery really wanted right now was to be left alone to her thoughts.

Speaking with Emeric, they got basically the same story Aveline had given them, albeit with additional details. Emeric believed DuPuis was a serial killer who had kidnapped and killed a number of women in recent years, beginning with a Circle mage that went missing three years earlier. After being formally censured by Knight-Commander Meredith, however, Emeric was stuck trying to convince the City Guard or find someone else who would continue his investigation. Once he found out that Hawke had been sent by the Captain of the Guard, he became very enthusiastic in his overtures for help.

Most important to Misery was the revelation of the key. She knew all too well that breaking in was hopeless. At least that had been the case years ago when she'd made numerous attempts. Having a key simplified the matter, and saved Misery from needing to reveal her prior knowledge of DuPuis' estate and his blood magic.

The latter piece of information she especially wanted to protect. If it became known that DuPuis was a mage – a blood mage at that – the Templar Order would immediately intervene. Misery didn't doubt that Meredith would have him executed, but that wasn't good enough. She intended a much more personal, excruciating death for _dear _Gascard.

Varric sighed. "Help me out here, Miz… why are you shutting down on me? Did I do something to piss you off?"

The question was driven by more than her reluctant, nearly exasperated response to his suggestion of checking out the merchant stalls. Earlier, the walk from Hightown down to the Docks followed by the short ferry ride to the Gallows hadn't been without conversation, but it'd been obvious to Varric that Misery was distracted. And her body language throughout the conversation with Emeric suggested she was very much on edge about something.

While he could guess that the _something_ had to do with this templar's task passed along by Aveline, he hoped suggesting that he thought it might be about him would prod her to open up a bit. He noticed her eyes go distant as she contemplated what to say.

"It's not you…" she finally answered, motioning for him to follow as she turned and began walking towards the stalls nearest to where they were standing. "This has dredged up something from my past that I don't wish to discuss."

The cryptic statement did nothing to sate Varric's curiosity. On the contrary, it only made it worse as he tried to think of what it could be. Did she know something about the murders this templar was investigating? He didn't see what she could know given how little she'd been around Kirkwall in recent years.

"You sure? Whatever it is, it's clearly bothering you."

"Let it go," she answered immediately.

"Is this going to affect the job? I don't want to be completely in the dark and caught off guard when you do something crazy. Give me at least that much."

Misery smirked very slightly. "Sorry, you already spent your 'give me that much' chip for today. No refunds, no house credit."

Varric's face lit in amusement. "Oh, but the basic principle didn't throw you off and that's actually currency I can spend with you? Good to know!"

"You won't need to worry about being caught off guard anyway. I'm going alone."

Before Varric could reply, the Formari herbalist Solivitus interrupted by beckoning them to see his wares. Varric shook his head, remembering yet again how difficult Misery could be to work with.

"I remember you!" Solivitus said, smiling. "You obtained some rare ingredients for me a few years back."

Misery laughed sarcastically, remembering the stupid stuff he'd paid her for. "Have you ever considered expanding your inventory? It looks like you're selling the same handful of items you were back then."

The herbalist's smile turned apologetic. "Well, I've haven't been blessed with anyone quite so resourceful since. Would you be interested in more work?"

"What are you looking for, Sol?" Varric asked.

He also remembered the ridiculousness of the merchant's previous requests, items they'd only managed to obtain through dumb luck and circumstance rather than any concerted effort to find them.

The Formari rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Harlot's Blush flower for one. It's a bright blue flower that-"

"I know what Harlot's Blush is," Misery said, interrupting with a dismissive wave of her hand. "It has healing properties, making it useful for grinding into potions or even ingesting on its own."

In response to Varric's quizzical expression she continued, "Rivain – herbalism is as much a part of day-to-day life there as it is for the Dalish. It was impossible not to learn a little along the way."

Sol nodded. "Yes, well, I have a recipe for a more potent type of health potion than you see on display here. However, I cannot make the potions without that flower."

"What else?" Varric asked.

"The Dalish elves have a type of ink they use for their tattoos. I would like to acquire some of it."

Misery folded her arms across her chest. "Why? I doubt they would part with it willingly."

"Perhaps not… but I wish to obtain it anyway. I'm sure you can understand when I say my reasons are my own."

Varric shook his head. He could just imagine Master Ilen's reaction at being asked to sell them some of their tattoo ink. And attempting to steal it would be an exceptionally bad idea. He made a mental note to ask Daisy about it later.

"I am also seeking the heart of a varterral," Sol continued.

Misery glanced at Varric, and his blank expression confirmed he didn't know either. "What is a varterral?"

"A living construct created by the elves in ancient times. I am… not sure where you would even begin to look for one."

"Do you even know what one looks like?" Varric asked.

"From my research, a varterral appears to a massive spider-like creature with monstrous, tree trunk –like legs."

Misery gasped. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she exclaimed incredulously, turning and storming away without even waiting for a response.

Varric couldn't help but laugh at the situation as he followed her. After a minute or so she spun and glared hard, quite unhappy with the amusement he was having at her expense.

"Oh, come on," Varric said. "You have to admit that was damned funny from where I stood."

The irony wasn't completely lost on her that she'd had an almost identical reaction the last time around. Eventually the slightest of smirks twitched at the corner of her lips, which only made Varric laugh harder.

"I hate you," she said after unsuccessfully holding back a brief laugh of her own.

-==0==-

By the time Emeric returned with the key, Misery's mirth had faded once more into visible edginess. Varric noticed that she didn't simply accept the key as one would normally receive an object being handed over. She practically snatched it from his hand before immediately shoving it down the side of her boot.

"Remember," Emeric began, "DuPuis is a dangerous man. I would suggest not entering his mansion until late at night, after everyone would be sleeping. Find the evidence that proves he is behind these murders. The guard-captain has made it abundantly clear she will settle for nothing less if she is to take action."

"Understood," Misery answered noncommittally. She parted ways with the templar and headed towards the ferry dock.

As far as she was concerned, finding evidence was an afterthought. If she came across something while looting his place after killing him, then so be it. Otherwise, she didn't care.

-==0==-

Varric let Misery stew on the ferry ride between the tiny island containing the Gallows and the mainland. As they left the Docks, however, he batted her on the arm to get her attention.

"So when are we doing the job? Tonight?"

He knew what she said earlier about going alone, but was prepared to push back on that plan.

Misery glanced over momentarily before quickly averting her eyes. "Tomorrow night…" she lied.

She didn't feel good about lying to him, but she also wanted to avoid the argument that would arise from telling him she needed to do this alone without being willing to tell him why. It wouldn't be until she reflected on it the next day that she'd realize this was the first time she outright lied to him.

Varric saw through it anyway. He was a professional liar himself and was a master at reading lies from others. He opened his mouth to call her on it but stopped himself. If she was going to pull this shit, he thought, he was going to outmaneuver her instead – and then rub it in her face later by way of payback and as a not so subtle point that lying to him wasn't an option.

"Who do you want to take with us?" he finally asked.

"Is Isabela still around? She would be a good choice for a quiet in and out job."

Varric laughed. "I don't know, from what I hear she's quite loud during the old in and out."

Misery flashed a confused look. "I don't follow."

Varric sighed theatrically, waving his hand. "Never mind… needing to explain the punchline just ruins the joke. Anyway, Rivaini hasn't left Kirkwall, so we'll see if she's available. What about Daisy? Couldn't hurt to have a mage with us in case it's not so simple and we end up fighting."

Misery shrugged and resumed walking. "That's fine. Both Mother and Aveline told me to go see her anyway."

"Hmm… you don't seem real excited to do that. You two have a falling out before you left last time? Daisy hasn't been real talkative the few times I've seen her, but I know your leaving bothered her."

"No, it's not that. I like Merrill. It's just… I've only been back a few days and I'm already wearing out on being told what I need to be doing and how I should be doing it. And to be honest, I don't really know what to say to people. I don't make small talk. Bethany was always the diplomatic one. And really… outside of you, Merrill, and to a lesser degree Aveline, all of the others were basically Bethany's friends, not mine. What's the point in me even going to see Anders or Fenris? I mean, take away Bethany and what's left? Mutual need made me useful to them and vice versa, but there's not even that now."

Varric sighed lightly. "Do you honestly decide who is going to be your friend based on their usefulness to you?"

"I make acquaintances that way, sure. Friends begin as acquaintances, so of course there's an element of usefulness already there. But if you're really asking me if your usefulness is all I see in you, I swear I'm going to pound you."

Chuckling, Varric shook his head. "No, I just wanted you to admit to yourself that it doesn't take 'mutual need' to be friends with someone. If that's all that's holding you back from reconnecting with the others, then it's nothing but a weak excuse."

Though Misery didn't respond, Varric noticed the subtle shift in expression and could guess that she was contemplating his words. He supposed it was progress at least. The old Misery probably would have dismissed him out of hand and never given it another thought. He also couldn't help but wonder if it meant anything.

-==0==-

Misery ignored the uneasy stares as she, Varric, and Revas made their way through the poorest part of Kirkwall – the alienage. She knew the simple fact she was human was as much a source of unease as being armed. Most elves would just assume a human never step foot in the alienage, just as most humans would just assume for the elves to never leave the alienage. Misery had been in the alienage quite a few times in the past, though she doubted anyone recognized her since it had been a few years.

She found herself instead dwelling on how Merrill would react to seeing her. Misery hadn't been surprised that Isabela didn't seem to care either way about her absence or presence when they stopped in at The Hanged Man to see her, and was even less surprised that Isabela almost immediately asked for Misery's help following up on a lead regarding the relic if it panned out. At least Isabela didn't try to pretend she wasn't hanging around Misery for her own benefit.

Merrill, on the other hand, would be a touchier situation. Misery didn't understand why, but to listen to everyone talk it was as if the elf had taken her absence personally, and from there had gone so far as to cut herself off from everyone in response. Once again Misery found herself wishing Bethany was here with her. She'd know what to say.

Varric cleared his throat as they reached Merrill's apartment. "Hey… tell you what… I'll take the pup for a walk and check out the shops in the area while you and Daisy chat. We'll come back in an hour or so."

Misery raised an eyebrow curiously. "Why?"

"As interesting as your adventures were, you don't make them interesting enough to want to sit through for a third time."

"Varric, what aren't you telling me?"

The dwarf sighed. "I have a feeling this isn't going to go well. Just remember that you're very important to her, alright?"

Misery closed her eyes briefly and nodded. "Revas, go with Varric. Keep him out of trouble."

Varric chuckled. "You know, contrary to popular belief, dwarves and elves don't have this big rivalry." He waved his hand and walked off, leaving Misery to knock on Merrill's door.

-==0==-

"No, Merrill, no…" the elf muttered to herself. "You have already tried that, remember?"

The unexpected rapping on the door startled her, causing her to drop the book she'd been holding.

"Wh-who is it?" she called out.

When no answer came she went to the door and peered out the small peephole. Her eyes opened wide in surprise at the raven haired woman standing with her back to the door. On the one hand, the length of the woman's hair made her think of Bethany Hawke. But on the other hand, the woman wasn't wearing Grey Warden armor and wasn't carrying a staff. She quickly unlocked and opened the door.

"Andaran atish'an," Merrill said.

Misery turned around and smiled. "Aneth ara, Merrill."

Merrill outwardly froze, while inwardly her heart and mind raced. The shock didn't come from Misery speaking the language of the Elvhenan to her. After all, Misery had shown a keen interest in her people and culture from the time they'd met. The simple reality of Misery standing here was what left her grasping for a response.

"May I come in?" Misery asked when the elf didn't reply immediately.

Merrill nodded numbly, stepping back while opening the door further. She closed the door after Misery stepped inside and turned to observe her casually looking around the room.

Merrill wanted to zap her with lightning in anger. She wanted to hug her in relief. She wanted to walk away without a goodbye and leave her hurt and confused, as Misery had done to her. She wanted to melt into her arms and kiss her, and beg her not to leave her behind again.

That last emotional response had left Merrill more than a little confused in the year and a half since she'd become fully aware of it. Contrary to the popular shemlen view of her people, most elves weren't attracted to the same sex, nor did they find both men and women equally appealing romantically. Merrill herself had never been sexually attracted to women, not even any of the beautiful Dalish women. So she didn't understand the affection she felt for Misery, affection that went beyond friendship.

Awhile back, Merrill had finally sought out Isabela's advice, knowing that the Rivaini liked both men and women. She'd thought she would die of embarrassment though when Isabela couldn't stop laughing after she confided that she wasn't even quite sure how all the _parts_ worked together with two women. She ended up babbling about how she wasn't asking Isabela to teach her, and then apologizing that it wasn't because Isabela was unattractive but rather because she wasn't interested in women that way – at least not other than Misery – until finally Isabela told her to relax.

Isabela cautioned that being Hawkesexual might not work out for her, but wished her luck trying if that's what she wanted. And Merrill supposed that was another problem. Misery seemed to dislike everyone equally, and even once admitted not having been with anyone before, making it difficult to figure out her sexual orientation, or if she even had one. And for as little as Merrill understood human culture, even she understood that wasn't something you simply came out and asked someone. So she had no idea if there was even a possibility that Misery would return her feelings. Creators why did love have to be so confusing?

Merrill became aware that while daydreaming Misery was still looking curiously at the mess of books, scrolls, and other assorted things piled haphazardly about the room.

"By the Dread Wolf!" she exclaimed. "Why is my house always a mess when people are here? It is clean sometimes, I swear."

Misery shrugged. "How have you been? I hear you don't get out much anymore."

"I haven't had much reason to since… you left. And I've been working on something. Come here, I will show you."

Merrill led Misery into the next room, where in the corner what appeared to be the right half of a tall mirror stood on an ancient twisted wooden base.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Merrill asked.

"A… mirror with no reflection?"

"No, well… It's not that sort of mirror. I've spent the last few years restoring this eluvian. Two of my clan stumbled across it in a ruin in the Brecilian Forest not long before we left Ferelden. We never found Tamlen. And Mahariel came back poisoned just from being near it. The keeper was unable to save him."

Misery took a step back. "Poisoned? What are you doing with that thing if it's that dangerous?"

Merrill reached out almost in desperation that Misery was going to flee. "It's not dangerous, I promise! I fixed it. Or tried to. With blood magic… the eluvian won't hurt anyone."

"You fixed or you _tried _to fix it? Why even bring it here?"

"At first I just wanted to find Tamlen. But I know it has been too long… if he wasn't dead already. Now, I know it can help my people. I can at least recover this one small part of our heritage. Long ago the elves had a kingdom that covered Thedas. Every city had an eluvian like this that let them communicate across their empire. But I don't know how, exactly. My people have lost so much. We know almost nothing of the days before Arlathan. This is a piece of our history."

Misery sighed, her expression softening in sympathy. "This is why you were forced to leave the clan, isn't it? The eluvian took two of your clanmates and they were afraid you were going to cause the rest of them to be killed as well."

"They don't understand!" Merrill exclaimed much louder than she intended. "The keeper set them against me when I refused to destroy it! She said our ancestors meant it to be forgotten, but she is wrong! It's a keeper's place to remember! Even the dangerous things! And this eluvian could teach us so much about who we once were!"

"But it still doesn't work?"

"No," Merrill replied, sighing deeply. "I've tried everything. Poured through every book I could find. I think… see how the surface is glazed? I haven't been able to get that off, and think that might be the problem. But I probably need… the arulin'holm from my clan to do it."

"And Master Ilen needs it to carve ironbark and such, so even if the keeper agreed to help you with the eluvian she's not likely to give you the arulin'holm to do it."

Merrill stared up at Misery, her expression reflecting bitterness. "You are right, she won't. I have already been there once to ask for it. But I believe the keeper would agree to it if you were with me. Apparently you command greater respect from a Dalish Keeper than her First… or former First anyway."

"Merrill… Keeper Marethari is wise. Think about what you are doing. Blood magic? Banished from your clan? Is it worth it? At what point do you let it go?"

"Let it go? _You _of all people dare to tell _me_ to 'let it go'?" Merrill shook her head angrily as her temper swelled. "I would follow you _anywhere_ you ask, yet you didn't! And you didn't even give me a chance to say dareth shiral! You simply left! And when Varric came by yesterday he told me you intend to leave again!"

"Varric did what?"

"I… might not have been supposed to mention that…" Merrill said. While the volume of her voice dropped back to normal, her tone still bore the heat of anger.

Misery rubbed her temples, thinking this was probably why Varric made sure he wasn't here.

"Why didn't you ask me to go with you?" Merrill finally asked.

Misery sighed. "I'd hoped you would keep looking after Mother, along with Aveline. She enjoys your company. I apologize for not actually telling you that before I left. As Varric likes to point out, sometimes I seem to forget that people can't read my mind."

"It… it wasn't because of something I did then?"

"No, Merrill, not at all." Misery slipped the glove off of her partial hand. Smirking, she said, "I can count all of my friends on this hand, and you are one of them. Though when Varric gets here he might find out the middle finger is reserved especially for him."

Merrill didn't understand what she meant by the last part, but it didn't matter. She was just relieved to know things were okay between them.

"Will you help me?" she asked. "See the keeper about the arulin'holm I mean?"

"You realize my mother will kill both of us if I tell her I'm leaving for Sundermount, right?"

Misery chuckled at the sad expression that formed on the elf's face. "Relax, Merrill. We'll go, but I need you to give me a little time first. And if it means that much to you, I'll take you with me next time I get a lead on Bartrand's location."

Merrill nodded. "Ma serannas."

Misery stepped forward and pulled her into a friendly embrace. "Am I forgiven then?"

The elf closed her eyes and pressed herself even closer. "Of course," she whispered. "Will you stay longer? Tell me of your travels?"

Misery raised an eyebrow curiously at how tightly Merrill was clinging to her, but decided Merrill was just overly relieved to see her after so long, as the closeness and warmth expressed through the embrace reminded Misery of the way Bethany used to hug her during more emotional moments.

"Sure, I can tell you about them," she answered. "Let's go sit down though. I've been on my feet all day and could use a break from standing."

Merrill reluctantly let go of Misery and nodded. "I'll make us something to drink as well. Come."

-==0==-

Leaving the alienage, Misery glanced curiously at the chuckling dwarf walking alongside her.

"Something funny?"

He nodded. "Oh, just thinking how every time I think I've got you figured out, you do something that causes me to reevaluate. I was not expecting to find you two laughing and having a good time like you never left. Not the way Daisy has been brooding over you for so long."

Misery shrugged. "Something else to reevaluate – you were wrong when you told me people get tired of waiting and move on. I can't tell a damned thing has changed. Isabela and Merrill both acted like their lives were on hold until I came back to help them, and Aveline immediately hit me up to solve a problem for her."

Sarcastically she added, "I'm beginning to wonder if Kirkwall even functions without me."

"Don't let popularity go to your head, Miz," he replied with an equal amount of sarcasm.

When they reached the Great Stairs leading up to Hightown, he asked, "See you tonight for the DuPuis job?"

"Ye-no, no… tomorrow night."

Despite catching herself, she didn't catch herself quickly enough. Varric nodded, though unbeknownst to her it was in regards to the truth, not to her lie.

"See you then," he said, winking and waving before parting ways.

* * *

_AN: Special thanks to xseikax for betaing this for me. Whereas in the past I've used betas here and there for specific chapters or specific scenes within a chapter, I've never used one on an ongoing basis. I'm going to try that with this story and see if it helps keep me reined in a bit :)_


	3. Shortsighted Revenge Long in Coming

_AN: As most of you can probably imagine, there's some squeamishness in this chapter as Misery deals with the DuPuis situation. I learned my lesson from HiC and avoided doing the scene in graphic detail, but there's the disclaimer anyway. Thanks to xseikax for the beta help, especially with Varric's internal vs. external reactions late in the chapter._

* * *

Light brown eyes peered out of the darkness as the owner of them continued to lean back against the stone wall. Despite the time of night and his location being bathed in shadow, the stone was still warm to the touch, not having finished yielding the summer day's heat. To his right stood the Chantry in all of its glory. Straight ahead across the courtyard, a well-maintained avenue led into a largely residential section of Hightown. His primary interest, however, was ahead and to his left, where the Chantry courtyard connected to Hightown's main square.

It was the only route from her estate to her destination that made sense, as the other entrance into the residential area across from him would be the difference between a brisk ten minute walk across Hightown and more than an hour to descend and cross Lowtown before coming back up to Hightown.

Then again, if she did try to cover her tracks that way, he had that covered too.

He wished she'd hurry up though. Staking out his target for the past three hours reminded him of another reason he'd given up the life of an assassin – this was terribly boring. His butt hurt from sitting on the hard stone for so long, but he refused to stand because the discomfort kept him alert. As did the rancid, overpowering flavor of the tea leaves he very slowly chewed for energy.

He kept his mind active, composing stories in his head all the while watching the activity of the night trickle down to only the occasional passing of guard patrols that were none the wiser to his presence.

One thing that never crossed his mind was if she'd actually come. He'd seen it in her eyes, he knew she was doing this tonight. He didn't know what was going on, and was even willing to concede that it was perhaps a bit of arrogance on his part regarding his importance to her, but the way she'd carried herself all day and having lied to keep him away suggested that this was something big – something personal. And because of her importance to him, he was going to be there to have her back whether she liked it or not.

He smirked when she finally stepped into the chantry courtyard, flashed a glance his way, and then turned towards the opposite direction. His smugness didn't come from knowing she didn't see him in the shadows. That was a given. Instead it was from being right. He was still as good a bard as ever.

In this lighting and at this distance he couldn't actually make a positive identification, or even determine if it was a man or woman. In fact, the only reason he knew it was her was because he knew it was her even before she stepped into view.

He was also glad he'd been paying attention though, because had his attention lapsed for long he would have missed her. She'd always been light on her feet, but nowadays her steps were nearly silent, seemingly without any conscious effort to make them so. It was one of the changes he'd noticed since her return. Some people walked. She _flowed_. And yet the casual eye would mistake it for simple grace, not realizing it was an art honed to the point of being second nature.

Conspiring with her steps was her appearance. Amateurs wore black at night, thinking the darker the color the better. Professionals in the art of stealth were chameleons that matched their colors and even clothing patterns to the environment in order to avoid creating obvious silhouettes. Her attire blended well with the washed gray stone surroundings, and the hooded cloak smoothed over the sharpness of her physical features in addition to concealing weaponry.

To his Carta trained eyes it was obvious that she'd had serious training of her own, and likely the field experience to go with it. That left him even more curious as to what was going on. He briefly recalled the incident in her wine cellar, where she mentioned learning from an old Crow how to decoy foes with an illusion of herself. It was clear that wasn't all she'd learned in her time away, and he made a mental note to ask her later about her involvement with that infamous order of Antivan assassins.

He gave her a couple of minute headstart before getting to his feet.

_Come on, Bianca. It's show time._

-==0==-

Merrill sighed deeply as she gazed upon the empty courtyard from a second floor window of Fenris' estate. It had been hours, and in all this time no one had approached the estate across the courtyard that she was keeping an eye on. There had been no signs of life at all outside since the last guard patrol went by more than an hour earlier. Now it was late and she was ready to get the long walk home over with and go to bed.

It wasn't being the odd one out to Fenris and Isabela's conversation that left her feeling that way. She was grateful actually to have Isabela as a buffer between herself and Fenris. Then again, Merrill wouldn't even be here if she'd had to be alone with him.

She never felt comfortable in the mage hating elf's presence. She didn't fear him, but knowing he wished her dead kept her on edge and eroded the sympathy she'd once had for his situation. There was a constant expression of derision whenever he looked at her, and that was no different this night. The smile he bore at the sight of Isabela climbing the stairs disappeared when he noticed Merrill trailing behind her.

More than being stressed about Fenris and bored and tired standing around doing nothing so late at night, it was her doubt as to the point of it. She trusted Misery, and Misery said they were doing this investigation tomorrow night. So what made Varric so convinced she was going to attempt to do it tonight by herself? And even if Misery changed her mind, why were they sneaking around behind her back? It was all so confusing.

Merrill was contemplating asking Isabela when they were going to decide Misery wasn't coming when movement outside caught her attention. When she realized it was Varric she sighed, thinking maybe he was finally here to call it off.

"Varric's here," she called out to Fenris and Isabela, who were sitting at a table sharing a bottle of wine over a card game.

It was only a few moments longer before Varric opened the door and entered.

"Time to go home?" Merrill asked after Varric passed through the foyer into the main room.

Varric shook his head vehemently. "Weren't you watching? I trailed her from the chantry, far enough to be out of sight but close enough that she should've only beat me by a minute or two."

"I-I was watching, but I only saw you…" Merrill admitted, drawing a scowl from the dwarf. He couldn't decide if Misery had been that good to avoid being spotted, Merrill had been that unobservant, or if Misery hadn't taken a direct route to the DuPuis mansion.

"Where's Rivaini?"

Isabela sighed and stood. "How about I come back _alone_ afterwards? Might as well take advantage of already being in the neighborhood, right?"

Fenris chuckled and nodded. "I will be here."

He didn't care that he wasn't being asked to accompany them. Isabela had told him the gist of the job, and even though he didn't know Misery wasn't expecting _anyone _in support, he understood that a quiet break in and information search didn't play to his strengths. He was the first to admit that despite a healthy amount of inherent elven grace, he didn't do 'subtle' very well.

More than that, regardless of past assurances and her extended absences from Kirkwall, the fact remained that Misery had not once been to see him since the Deep Roads expedition three years earlier. The last time he'd even set eyes on her was two years ago at The Hanged Man during one of Bethany's few visits to Kirkwall.

Misery's lack of engagement just reinforced what he knew long before the expedition, that in Misery's eyes he was little different than the abomination – someone to keep around as a useful tool only because Bethany took an interest in helping them, and someone quickly discarded once Bethany was gone. He sometimes wondered what Misery would say if he told her Danarius had returned and requested her help. He suspected he'd be better off asking the dwarf and having him in turn solicit her help.

Bethany… Fenris had entertained the thought of offering to join her with the Grey Wardens on more than one occasion. He'd been very tempted the last time, when the two of them had spent a pleasant evening together prior to her leaving with the other wardens for Ferelden. After all, he had no real ties to Kirkwall and being a Grey Warden in Ferelden would practically ensure Danarius never found him.

Knowing that the Grey Warden Joining carried with it a strong possibility of immediate death was enough to deter him from extending the offer. He'd struggled too hard and too long for his own life to voluntarily reduce it to the outcome of consuming a potentially lethal concoction. However, he also knew that had she asked him, he would have been unlikely to say no.

But she didn't ask. He wasn't so comfortable with her to ask why, but he hoped it was simply an unwillingness to take that chance with his life rather than fearing his rejection or worse, that she wouldn't want him with her. In some ways these thoughts confirmed for Fenris that there was a Maker or some other unseen higher power, because clearly for him to think such things of a mage meant some god somewhere was amusing itself by toying with him.

-==0==-

Misery dropped from the ledge above, using her knees and upper legs to absorb the impact and minimize the noise generated. As an extra precaution against being seen, she'd gone through the garden at the rear of the adjoining estate, scaled the wall and dropped into DuPuis' garden, then climbed to the second floor ledge before slowly working her way around to the side with the servant's entrance. She wasn't taking chances.

She tugged the leather cord secured around her neck, lifting the key out the top of her tunic and into the open. Rather than removing her hood here outside, she took a knife from her belt and cut the cord to free the key. With a deep breath she inserted the key into the lock and turned, sighing lightly in relief at the soft click of the lock releasing. Before she could turn the handle to open it, however, the scuffling of footsteps nearby got her attention. She snatched the key from the door and pressed herself tightly into the corner, willing the shadows to absorb her form.

Her anxiety immediately turned to anger when three figures came into view. As they got closer, Varric began to chuckle.

"If I wasn't looking for you I wouldn't have even noticed you there," he said quietly in Misery's direction.

Scowling, she stepped out into the open. "Why are you here?" she asked pointedly.

Varric shrugged. "I was just out for a stroll, and happened to run into these lovely ladies while they were across the square visiting the broody elf. How about you? Casing the place for _tomorrow _night?"

"Fuck you."

He shook his head. "I could say the same to you for lying to me. Did you seriously think you'd get that past me? You're not that good at it, so why don't we dispense with the bullshit?"

"Go home. I'm going in alone. How's that?"

"It's honest, but still bullshit. Look, you say you trust me, so why won't you tell me what's going on?"

Isabela glanced down at Varric and shrugged. "Why bother? If she doesn't want the help, she doesn't want the help."

Misery nodded at her. "Thank you. At least someone understands."

The dwarf sighed in irritation. "That's not helping, Rivaini." He turned back to Misery. "The templar said this DuPuis fellow is dangerous. If he really is this serial killer preying on women… I don't like the thought of him getting his hands on you. Let me at least watch your back."

Misery opened her mouth to retort that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but stopped before the words spilled out. While she completely missed the nuance of Varric saying _me _instead of _us _in regards to watching her back, the sentiment in his words disarmed her. She couldn't help the effect his charm had on her.

She frowned, her mind racing as she attempted to formulate a plan that would still get her what she wanted while acquiescing to him. Finally she relented and nodded slowly.

"Very well… follow my lead and do _exactly _what I tell you."

She ignored the questioning expressions and turned away, twisting the ornate doorknob and then slowly pushing open the door and entering the estate.

-==0==-

Misery grimaced in pain as she grasped her wounded right shoulder. Angrily she unclasped her torn cloak and tossed it aside. Her decision to forgo armor in favor a more stealth friendly tunic had quickly proven to be a bad one, as the group was almost immediately beset by a hostile pack of summoned shades. And the cloak she'd worn wasn't her distinctive Dalish one with the rock armor enchantment, but rather a nondescript matte gray one that was perfect for concealment but offered no protection whatsoever.

Equally bad was her choice of weaponry. In the interest of silent, easy movement she'd opted not to have a dagger rubbing against her leg or a bow on her back. The knives over her hips were deadly sharp, but the overall ten inch length of them wasn't nearly as conducive to being primary combat weapons as the eighteen inch dagger she typically carried. The six inch stiletto she kept hidden in her boot for emergencies was even less useful.

All said, she'd come prepared for an assassination, not combat. The pair of wounds bleeding through her shredded tunic made that abundantly clear. The short but intense fight left her both angry at herself for being so underprepared and embarrassed at what she just knew the others were thinking about her prior insistence on doing this alone – that she wouldn't have survived the fight on her own.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Merrill placing her hands on her shoulder and beginning to softly chant a healing spell. Misery closed her eyes and sighed lightly at the pleasant tingle that spread as Merrill moved a hand down her back to the other wound. Unlike Bethany and Anders, the elf was a very hands-on healer, seemingly rubbing the magic into the recipient's body. Misery paid it no mind, however, since all the mages she'd ever known had their own individual casting quirks.

Misery opened her eyes at the sound of Varric saying her name, and scowled at the smirk on his face.

"Go ahead and say it, get it out of your system."

Varric chuckled. "What's that, 'I told you so'? No thanks, I like my innards right where they are, not spilled on the floor after you've gutted me. I actually wanted you to see this note I found on the table."

Misery took the note and quickly skimmed it over. Signed only as 'your friend', the note thanked Gascard for an undisclosed shipment and stated that his payment would be on the way in the form of the magical artifact that presumably summoned the demons they'd fought. The note cryptically warned Gascard to be careful, that the creatures could be difficult for even an experienced mage to control.

"Ser Emeric would be quite interested to know this guy is a mage," Varric said. "A mage that is intentionally summoning demons no less."

Misery shrugged and handed the note back to him. "Don't care. Keep the note in case I need the evidence later."

She didn't elaborate, letting him assume she meant towards proving DuPuis was the serial killer. In reality it was to justify a self-defense claim if DuPuis' murder was actually pinned on her.

"So much for being quiet about this…" she added, trailing off as she waved the others onward.

-==0==-

By the time the group reached the master bedroom upstairs, Misery was completely on edge. They'd found additional evidence that DuPuis was a blood mage and had been making inquiries about various missing young women, most notably from the Starkhaven Circle of Magi. They'd also encountered and been forced to fight more demons. The evidence was circumstantial at best as in determining if he was the serial killer, though the concrete proof of blood magic would be more than enough for the templars to capture and execute him.

However, Misery was a bundle of nerves because the familiarity of the estate brought back so many unpleasant memories. That was especially true when they searched his study, the room where she'd been forced to take his assault while Athenril watched. And with each room they didn't find him, her anticipation grew worse.

The truth was Misery had never healed. She had long suppressed her feelings without truly dealing with them, focusing on the physical act and the burning need for physical revenge as if that was all that would be needed to make the pain go away. And when Athenril died, Misery blamed Varric for the hollow, unfulfilled feeling left in the wake of her death, that it would have been different if she'd gotten to execute Athenril herself. She was beyond ready to end DuPuis and close that chapter of her life. As if it was that easy.

The sounds of a woman whimpering caused Misery to halt outside the master bedroom. Then she heard his voice… _his _voice… harshly telling the woman to shut up. She couldn't stop either the shudder or the low growl that immediately escaped afterwards.

Misery glanced back at her companions. The desire to get rid of them was almost desperate. She didn't want them to find out what that bastard had done to her. And she had no doubt that DuPuis would attempt to pick at that old wound, to use that against her, to embarrass her in front of the others with it. She didn't want their sympathy, or even worse their pity. But there was nothing to be done about it now other than hope she could control her reaction and minimize the damage by pretending it didn't bother her.

One thought came to mind though before she reached the door.

"You don't even want to know what I'll do if any of you kill him," she warned, her tone and expression as cold as it had ever been.

Without waiting for acknowledgement she lunged forward and kicked hard, her foot striking the door just to the side of the handle. The force behind the kick destroyed the flimsy interior door opening/closing mechanism, violently throwing the door open.

Misery's eyes were immediately drawn to a woman on the floor that appeared to be roughly the same age as her. The smeared makeup made it obvious she'd been crying, though now she screamed in terror at the sudden invasion of these strangers.

DuPuis took a quick step towards the side of the room where his staff was propped against the wall, but stopped in his tracks at the sound of Bianca cocking. Spying the staff he'd started for, Merrill shot an arcane bolt at it from her own staff, shattering it on impact.

"Help me, please!" the woman on the floor screamed.

"Shit!" DuPuis exclaimed. He raised his hands as if in surrender. "I know this looks bad, but I can explain! I didn't hurt her!"

Varric laughed. "Oh, this I've gotta hear." Despite the amusement, he kept Bianca trained on the Orlesian.

Seeing the woman's general appearance triggered unpleasant flashbacks for Misery, causing bile to rise in the back of her throat. Misery closed her eyes briefly while attempting to will the memories away. She was glad that at least for now no one was paying attention to her.

DuPuis sighed. "There is a murderer loose in Kirkwall. I thought you were him. Years ago he killed… my sister… and he's still doing it the same way. It starts with a bouquet of white lilies. He sends them to each new victim."

Gesturing to the woman on the floor, he continued, "Alessa was going to be next. I took her so he would have to come to me. I was finally going to face my sister's killer… until you showed up."

"He's lying!" Alessa exclaimed. "H-he… hurt me…"

Misery scowled and stalked towards Alessa. "Of course he's lying. He hardly expected one man to fight through all of those damned demons to actually get here."

Her expression softened as she bent down and offered her hand to Alessa. "It's alright, we'll get you out of here," she said. "He won't hurt anyone anymore."

Alessa saw the knowing expression on Misery's face, but didn't speak in response. She took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

DuPuis threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "I explained this, Alessa! I needed your blood in order to track you down if he took you. It was for your protection!"

Misery's mind went into overdrive as she tried to figure out a way to use Alessa's presence to her advantage. Her eyes casually scanned the bedroom before settling on a desk in the small adjoining library. She could work with this.

"Isabela, Merrill, escort Alessa to the door and let her go. Shout if you encounter any more of his pets."

"She'll go straight to the City Guard!" DuPuis protested.

Misery glared hard. "Shut the fuck up and get in there," she said, shoving him towards the library.

DuPuis scowled, but with the dwarf's crossbow pointed at him from only a few feet away he didn't have much of a choice.

Once inside the library Misery grabbed the chair from the desk and slammed it down in the middle of the small room.

"Sit," she ordered. "Varric, if the bastard even twitches funny shoot him in a _non-critical_ spot."

With that she turned her back and began rifling through the desk. Finally she came across something useful – twine used for tying up packages to ship. She went back and tightly bound DuPuis' hands to the chair behind his back and his ankles to the legs of the chair.

"We leaving him for the Guard?" Varric asked. "Or for the templars?"

Misery took a deep breath. She could hear the other two women talking outside the room, and now Varric left her the perfect opening.

"Come on," she said noncommittally, gesturing towards the door.

She timed her paces so that Varric would exit first, and as soon as he did she closed the door and threw the lock. Her expression took on a mixture of a feral grin and a death glare as she whirled around on DuPuis.

Varric banged on the door after quickly discovering it was locked. "Misery! What are you doing? Open up!"

"My _dear _Gascard," she began, not even acknowledging the dwarf in the other room. "How I've waited so very long for this."

DuPuis scowled. "Do I know you?"

The lack of recognition on his face gave her pause, but she quickly recovered. "Don't play stupid. You know damned well who I am."

When DuPuis only continued to stare at her with that same blankness in his eyes even while scowling, she began to chew on her bottom lip in consternation.

"Athenril…" she hinted.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall the vaguely familiar name. "Knife-eared smuggler that acquired a few items for me a long time ago. So what? I have not seen her in years."

"You really don't remember me, do you?" Misery whispered.

It was far less a question than a stunned realization that for as much as she'd dwelt on and obsessed about him since the incident, she wasn't even memorable to him. She tried to rationalize that the dried sweat and blood along with the no makeup appearance made for a significantly different look than she'd had the night of his party, but she dismissed that notion – he'd seen her and made unwelcome advances a few times prior to that party.

"Should I?" he asked sarcastically. "You are hardly the first pretty face to grace my presence."

DuPuis smirked despite the very uncomfortable situation. He was resigned to having to deal with either the Guard or the templars, but the thought hadn't yet crossed his mind that she had no intention of handing him to either.

Misery's disbelief gave way to the rage boiling inside of her, rage that was rapidly approaching an uncontrollable level. She wondered how many other women there had been beyond her, Alessa, and potentially the other missing women.

"How _dare _you forget what you did to me!" she hissed.

"Perhaps you should remind me."

Misery's eyes went distant briefly as the images flashed again in her mind. She gritted her teeth, trembling in response to the memory and the fury. She lunged forward and punched him, splitting open his upper lip against his teeth.

Her face took on a wild look in response to the condescending sneer he flashed at her. She reached down and yanked the drawstring on the front of his trousers, and then began to work them down. It was a task made difficult by him being tied to the chair and his struggle to keep her from it, but once she finally got them pulled past his butt they quickly fell to his ankles.

"Just what in the Void do you think you are doing?" he shouted as she struggled to get his trousers and smalls off.

Misery leaned in close after she succeeded, her sneer exceeding his own. "Start with my hands, right?" she asked hatefully, grasping and quickly stroking his manhood with her gloved hand.

Gascard closed his eyes and tried to will himself not to react. However, his body betrayed him, responding to the touch even through the anxiety over whatever this woman was intending. A low groan mixed of frustration and pleasure escaped his lips as he hardened.

Moments later his eyes shot open and he screamed in sheer agony. His eyes rolled back in his head, his vision blacking out all the while he continued to scream.

In the next room, Varric and Merrill's stress levels were continuing to rise as they paced back and forth waiting for Misery to open the damned door. However, once the screaming started Varric decided it was time to force the issue. He rushed the door, slamming his body into it. The doorframe cracked but held, bouncing him to the ground and leaving him with a bruised shoulder and bruised ego as Isabela cackled gleefully, completely unperturbed by whatever was happening in the other room.

Varric rose to his feet and backed up to make another charge when the screams became muffled among choking noises before finally being snuffed out completely. He hesitated several long moments, trying to decide what to do. He'd just about decided to hit the door again when the sound of the lock being released was heard and the door slowly opened wide enough for Misery to step into the room.

Varric and Merrill's shocked expressions mirrored each other. Misery's gloves were coated in blood, and the front of her tunic was blood soaked. She was shaking and the color had drained from her face.

"Oh, shit…" Varric muttered. "Daisy, heal her!"

Misery shook her head quickly. "N-not mine. L-leave me alone…"

She ignored the follow up questions and went out into the hall. She tore her gloves off and cast them aside before sitting down on a couch and burying her face in her hands.

Isabela's curiosity got the best of her and she pushed open the door to the library. "Oh, my…" she said at the sight.

The dead Orlesian noble was strapped to the chair with his trousers around his ankles. Blood still poured from his crotch, as well as ran down his chin and neck from his mouth.

Merrill came in behind the Rivaini and winced at the gruesome sight. As she got closer her eyes grew wider.

"Is that his… in his mouth?" she asked.

"Looks like it, Kitten. Call it a hunch, but this man wronged her. For the record I don't really recommend taking it this far, though I give her points for creativity."

Merrill held her hand to her mouth. "I'm going to be sick…" she groaned, rushing to the wastebasket.

Varric looked into the room long enough to see the situation and then went out to sit with Misery. He didn't say anything for awhile, though eventually he couldn't resist the urge.

"That… was kind of… personal, wasn't it?"

When Misery didn't respond he sighed. "Want to talk about it?"

"I _want _everyone to go away…" she mumbled.

Varric waited a few moments longer before standing and walking off. He returned a few minutes later.

"I sent Rivaini and Daisy to tell Aveline. She won't blame you for killing the guy, what with the demons and blood magic shit on top of holding that woman hostage. If I had to guess, she'll be more pissed about being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night than about this guy's death. Though I'm not sure how you'll want to explain the _predicament_ the body is in. Choking to death on your own… yeah… pretty shitty way to go."

Misery raised her head from her hands slowly. "That's what a sick bastard who preys on women gets," she hissed.

Varric raised an eyebrow curiously. She was obviously still shaken by what had happened. He'd never seen her so affected by killing someone before. The only other death he'd even seen even really bother her was Athenril, but that's because it was…

_Personal_, he realized, confirming his earlier thought. Both eyes opened wide as that realization spread.

"You had a run in with him before," he stated. "This was never about Emeric's investigation, and that's why you were so dead set on doing this alone."

Misery bit down on her trembling bottom lip. She shook her head, both in acknowledgment that she hadn't come to investigate and in a silent plea not to press her to talk about it.

He understood. His concern for her was also turning to anger not at her, but at the dead Orlesian.

"I can guess at what happened by the statement you made in killing him, but I won't pester you to tell me. Come on, I'll walk you home."

-==0==-

"What are you going to tell Emeric?" Varric asked as he and Misery turned the corner towards the Hawke estate. It was the first words either of them had spoken since leaving DuPuis' manor.

Misery shook her head. "I'm not. He should hear from the Guard that DuPuis is dead, and beyond that I don't give a damn. Emeric was a means to an end for me, nothing more."

Varric nodded slowly. "You think he was really the killer they're looking for?"

"I don't know… probably? I'm not going to worry about it either way. That's what the Guard is for. Besides, Aveline thinks the whole serial killer thing is bullshit anyway. You heard her. All she was interested in was shutting Emeric up."

"Good point."

Misery sighed. "It's late. You… you are welcome to stay here if you'd rather wait until morning to head back to The Hanged Man," she said, gesturing to her estate. "I mean, I have several empty guest rooms."

"You sure?"

"Have you ever known me to offer something just to be polite?"

He laughed. "No, you're right… you wouldn't offer unless you meant it. I meant though would your mother care that you had a dashing man spend the night? Could be scandalous if the neighbors caught wind of it."

She sighed deeply. "Now is really not the time to be making jokes like that."

"Hey, no… I… you're right, I'm sorry. If the offer is still on the table, I'll take you up on it. I'm beat."

With the front door in sight Misery suddenly stopped walking. She took and released a deep breath.

She'd silently spoken to herself all along the way, trying to work up the courage to give voice to what she knew Varric had essentially figured out. Part of her wanted to tell him simply to clear the air, so his curiosity wouldn't cause him to continue wondering, or cause him to imagine scenarios even worse than reality had been.

Another part of her wanted him to understand why it happened, that it was coercion and not a lack of strength or skill that left her unable to stop it. She wanted him to understand her _need _to get revenge on DuPuis, the same need she'd had with Athenril, and acknowledge that she wasn't wrong for it even if he didn't like the way she went about it.

Still another part wanted to let him past her façade to see if he'd be compassionate without pitying her. It wasn't with intent to test him though. If anything, reaching out for his understanding and acceptance was a subconscious test of herself.

But all roads led to uncomfortably exposing her vulnerability.

"Athenril…" she finally blurted out in an abrupt whisper.

"Come again?" he asked when she didn't say anything else right away.

The words began spilling out. "Athenril… when she still owned Bethany and me… the three of us attended a formal party at DuPuis' mansion as part of a job for him. Near the end of the night Athenril called me into a meeting with her and him, and after an argument he demanded I-I… I… _service _him. I refused at first, but Athenril owned me and was willing to do anything to keep his business… she gave me the choice of doing it or… watching him rape Bethany. I-I gave in… of course… and he took the opportunity to hurt me, knowing I wasn't allowed to stop him."

Varric wasn't sure how to react or even how he should feel. He was angry that it happened to her even though it was before he'd ever met the Hawkes. He wanted to be angry with Misery for letting herself suffer for so long. It reminded him too much of the times she unnecessarily hid injuries from him and others.

But he couldn't be mad at Misery. He understood why it'd been so important for her to do the deed herself. And he understood now why Misery had so scathingly warned him and the others about killing DuPuis just prior to smashing DuPuis' bedroom door. She'd learned from the debacle where he'd poached Athenril from her, and had tried to communicate her need even while maintaining her secret.

He also couldn't blame Misery for keeping that secret, even after the mess with Athenril. And for as badly as she'd reacted to him killing Athenril, he realized now it had been for _his _benefit that Misery fled the scene immediately afterward.

He didn't feel guilty though. This new knowledge didn't change what he knew at the time. However, it made his heart ache for her. He wanted to step forward and hug her, to offer comfort. But he also suspected she would react poorly to it. She probably didn't want to be physically touched by anyone right now, except Revas perhaps, and beyond that she might interpret it negatively as pity, something he didn't intend.

Varric hated this helpless feeling of wanting to help her but not knowing what to say or do, but he was aware that the silence since she'd finished speaking was growing uncomfortable. He finally decided to be a calm, steadying influence, and to adjust from there based on her responses.

He nodded solemnly. "I suspected as much. I admit I don't really know what to say… and I imagine you don't want me to say much about it… but thank you. I mean, I know you. I know it's a very big deal for you to share something like this. I appreciate that you trust me that much."

"You're the only one I've ever told," she said quietly. "I hope that tells you how much I think of you."

"Even Sunshine never found out what you did for her?"

Misery shook her head. "She knew something went bad between me and Athenril, but that's the extent of it. Anyway… I swore to myself that night I would kill both of them. I'd spent many nights trying to get into his estate after I got free of Athenril, but he used blood magic to keep an invisible barrier in place."

"Wait… so you already knew he was a blood mage?"

"Yeah. It was why I went as an assassin. I intended to get in silently and at minimum incapacitate him before he ever saw me coming. Clearly that plan failed."

Varric sighed. He hated how reckless she was with her life, but he also wasn't going to lecture her about it in her current state of mind. And he was further frustrated that she never told him she was spending so much time trying unsuccessfully to get into DuPuis' estate. He had _resources_, if he'd known what happened he would've had DuPuis taken care of years ago. But he also understood why she didn't tell him. Still, it left him feeling like he didn't do enough for her despite intellectually knowing it made no sense to feel that way.

"Did Athenril do that much?" he asked. "I mean, use Sunshine as leverage to get you to do things?"

"No, she didn't have to. I knew the score. But I'd made an agreement with her when we signed on that our bodies were our own, we weren't going to whore them out for her. She honored that agreement until that night. And that's when I was painfully reminded that personal information is an exploitable commodity. Athenril knew there was nothing I wouldn't do to protect Bethany, and used that against me."

Varric resisted the sudden urge to snap his fingers or to make a loud _click _with his tongue as if he'd just cracked a lock. But that's how he felt, like he'd just unlocked a key piece of the puzzle that was Misery Hawke. In light of this new information, so many other things about her suddenly made sense. The nature of the information still tempered his enthusiasm, however.

He also couldn't help the slight tinge of misplaced bitterness he felt towards Sunshine at the moment. It was something else that didn't make sense. He knew she greatly appreciated her older sister. But his affection for Misery was making him irritated on her behalf that she secretly bore the assault and probably the brunt of all sorts of other things just to keep Sunshine safe.

"I remember…" Varric began, rubbing his chin in thought, "back when we first started working together you'd get pissed off when I asked too many personal questions. I guess that incident was still fairly fresh for you at the time."

"It was. It happened three or four weeks before I met you. It wasn't the only reason I was reluctant to reveal much about myself, but it was at the forefront of my mind."

He nodded slowly. "You've been through a lot of shit in life that no one else knows about, haven't you?"

"Maybe so, but I don't feel sorry for myself if that's what you're hinting at. It simply comes with doing what I was trained for."

"No, that's not it. I was just thinking… how differently people would see you if they really knew you, knew why you did the things you do."

Misery shrugged. "I suppose I'd have to care what people thought of me first."

"See, that's the thing. I think you do care… but I haven't figured out why you work so hard to conceal it."

Misery ran her fingers through her hair and sighed lightly. "I'm not sure I have the concentration to process that right now. Anyway, thank you for being there for me. Not just listening now, but going out of your way to have my back even when I thought I didn't want that. I… I…"

She stopped and shook her head. "Just thank you."

Varric wondered what it was she wanted to say but didn't, but didn't press her. Progress had been made this night, and as such he was opting to play his hand conservatively. Better to keep the small profit already in hand than take his chances wagering it on a potential boom or bust outcome.

"Yeah, well, I'll just say 'you're welcome' and leave it at that before you make me all misty-eyed over here."

Misery flashed a brief gentle smile in appreciation of him not making a big deal out of it. "Come on then, let's call it a night. Tomorrow we do the stuff you wanted to do today, alright?"

He nodded, not feeling like teasing her that it was already tomorrow. "You'll be okay? I'll understand if you'd rather be left alone for awhile."

She caught herself before her stock answer about always being okay came out on its own. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's over, but... I don't know. I just don't want to sit around dwelling on it anymore. I... would prefer your company to solitude."

"Alright, sounds like a plan then."

Despite the nonchalant response and ongoing concern for her, it made him happy that Misery so openly wanted him around. He knew she trusted and respected him as a friend, but he allowed himself to hope that she was warming up to him in other ways as well. And in that regard things definitely seemed to be looking up.


	4. Diplomacy

"_What does one do when they finally stop running?"_

Misery hadn't had a good answer for Fenris when he'd posed the question in response to her suggestion that Danarius might never come back. After all, it had been the better part of four years with nary a peep since the Tevinter magister had left Kirkwall.

Her lack of an answer didn't come from knowledge that she herself was still running. She didn't see herself in that light at all. Rather it was because she never quite understood why Fenris chose to live with the uncertainty of Danarius hanging over him. She'd have gone after Danarius, danger be damned. She'd already proven that with Corypheus. Even after having eliminated the Carta dwarves and Grey Wardens working on his behalf, Misery wasn't going to live with not knowing if Corypheus would find others to send after her and Bethany in the future.

Fenris, on the other hand, was an odd combination of active defiance and passive resignation to fate. Misery understood that he didn't like the Danarius situation being unresolved and that staying in the Tevinter owned mansion was an open invitation for the magister to try to come after him. But she didn't understand letting that continue to fester, to dominate nearly every aspect of his life.

And dominate his life it did. Like Anders, with his constant harping on the oppression of mages, Fenris seemingly said little that didn't tie back to his former life in some way. And Misery had no idea what to tell someone who was unwilling to help themselves.

Walking back to her estate with Revas after seeing Fenris, Misery sighed in equal parts relief and general mental fatigue. She didn't dislike Fenris. In fact, she appreciated his skill, his reliability, his no nonsense approach to missions, and that he'd gradually become a good friend to Bethany despite their very rocky beginning. But that didn't mean Misery was close to him or that she wanted to bear his emotional burdens. In fact, she only went to see him because Varric had slightly guilted her into doing it as favor to Bethany.

Thinking about Fenris lamenting to her reminded her how commonplace that sort of thing was becoming since she'd been back. Once Aveline had gotten past her initial anger at Misery for killing DuPuis and at the rogue's unwillingness to explain her specific actions, she opened up to Misery about feeling somewhat lost, about not finding fulfillment in her duty and wondering if she was finally ready to move past Wesley.

Then there was Merrill, who had spoken at length about her various problems a couple of times already. To Misery is was plain to see that the elf's problems all stemmed from her obsession with that eluvian, but as far as she was concerned at least Merrill had been attempting to do something about it on her own. In that regard the elf had earned more respect from her than Fenris, Aveline, Anders, and Isabela, all of whom were more apt to complain about their situations yet do nothing about them.

Misery didn't know what to make of Isabela. The Rivaini's situation hadn't changed at all in the nearly four years since they'd met. She was still searching for the relic, though Misery wasn't sure how much searching was getting done with her ass anchored to a barstool day after day. Did that Castillon fellow really think she was still getting that relic for him after all the time that had elapsed?

And the boat. Isabela claimed she was stuck in Kirkwall because her ship had run aground during a storm. Yet Misery didn't see Isabela making any effort to obtain another ship, and it wasn't like she couldn't leave Kirkwall without her own ship. Misery had been all over northern Thedas, even as far as Isabela's homeland, without owning her own ship. There had to be more going on than met the eye, though she didn't care enough to actually ask Isabela what was going on.

More generally, Misery wondered what made others want to dump their problems on her. Was she more convenient than going to the Chantry and confessing to a mother? Did they mistake her quiet nature in social group situations for being a good listener?

While she was usually more content to listen and observe than participate in a group conversation, that was rarely driven by any particular interest in listening to others. Her motivations typically ranged from not being interested enough to engage herself, to simply not having anything of value to contribute, to the practical matter of social conditioning. The latter was especially difficult to overcome.

For as much as she'd opened up to Varric, he remained the exception. She was still fiercely protective of herself with others, and still believed that the more one spoke, the more likely they were to unintentionally reveal information that could be used against them later. And the other side of the coin was that the more one spoke, the less likely they were to catch details revealed by others. She was glad Varric was the type that she swore at times spoke just to hear his own voice, because she was anything but that. He relieved her of the social burden in group settings.

However, it was more than Fenris and the others speaking with her as if she was supposed to be some sort of counselor that left her feeling mentally tired. It had been a week since DuPuis, long enough that the fervor around Hightown over a minor noble being murdered in his own manor had mostly died down, though not so long that Misery wasn't reminded of it in one way or another on a daily basis. Sometimes it was overhearing people continuing to speculate and swap rumors about what the reclusive DuPuis might have been involved with that resulted in his murder. Sometimes it was her own thoughts going back to that night.

Misery had no regrets over killing DuPuis, but part of her was still troubled. Sure, she'd killed _many _over the years. Sometimes in brutal fashion, sometimes in an emotionally charged state, but very rarely did passion drive brutality. And killing was almost never personal. However, with DuPuis that combination formed a toxic mix for blind rage, and brought about a loss of control that culminated in a deeply personal brutality unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. She hated the feeling it left in its wake, the nagging unease with herself.

Varric had kept her busy since then, though she suspected that had more to do with distracting her from Bartrand than anything else. Merrill had been present more days than not as well, causing Varric to tease Misery about being able to get the pale elf a regular amount of sunlight when no one else could. But today Varric was busy with other things and Merrill was working on her eluvian.

Not really having a sense of purpose after leaving Fenris, Misery wandered aimlessly with Revas until her feet returned her to her estate almost of their own accord. She and Revas were barely through the foyer into the main living room when Sandal jumped out and tackled Revas.

The mabari rolled with the momentum, using his powerful haunches to pull free. He pounced on the dwarven boy, pinning him to the floor on his back.

"Woof!" Sandal shouted in glee.

Revas woofed back and licked his face, making Sandal laugh. Misery shook her head and kept walking as those two continued to playfully woof back and forth at each other.

Leandra came out of the study at the noise. "Oh, Mireille! Come upstairs, I have something for you."

Misery raised an eyebrow curiously but followed. When they reached her room, she immediately noticed a formal gown on her armor rack. She glanced over at her mother, silently posing the question with her expression.

"Tomorrow night the de Launcet's are holding a birthday celebration for Dulci. We have been invited and shall attend."

Misery groaned, drawing a disapproving glare.

"A seamstress will be by tomorrow morning to make any necessary adjustments," Leandra continued, "so you will need to be here then."

"I thought seeing the de Launcets made you feel awkward?"

Leandra sighed lightly. Simple everyday occurrences like this were ongoing reminders that her daughter still had much catching up to do.

"Much has changed since we regained our home and standing. Guillaume and Dulci were naturally suspicious of my intentions when I first visited with them shortly after we had arrived in Kirkwall. Dulci knew our history and assumed that with Malcolm gone I would try to get my hooks back into her husband. When I had told him of our situation, Guillaume assumed I was looking for a handout. I happened to see them at a few social events after moving back here, and things became friendlier as they came to realize I no interest in their wealth or in revisiting what might have been with Guillaume. And it turned out we have much in common. Their son Emil is a mage at the Kirkwall Circle."

Leandra smirked and continued, "Dulci is the perfectwoman for Guillaume. Keep that in mind when you meet her and you will understand why I eloped with your father. Nevertheless, they are friends and I expect you to be respectful and courteous tomorrow night."

"Yes, Mother…" Misery answered in resignation. "I assume I will be asked about my time away. Is there a particular story I need to be aware of in order not to contradict what you've told people?"

"I am not ashamed of you, Love, if that is what you're implying. I have simply told others that you were attending to matters concerning family and business. You are free to expound on that however you choose, though I pray you do so in a way that doesn't needlessly embarrass us. It is also common knowledge that Bethany is a Grey Warden."

Misery nodded slowly. "I see… thank you. I apologize."

"Yes, well you can demonstrate the sincerity of that by not arguing with me over your escort for tomorrow night."

"Escort?"

Leandra straightened her back, assuming that authoritative posture that Misery knew full well meant she wasn't getting a say in whatever she was about to be told.

"Yes, I have arranged for a charming young man to accompany you, a gentleman I met while visiting an old friend at the Chantry. Perhaps, if all goes well, he will even begin courting you."

"You did what? You can't be serious!"

"Mireille Louise Hawke, you are twenty-eight years old. The window for you to marry and have a family is closing. My patience with waiting on you to meet someone on your own has reached its end. Therefore, I will find a suitable mate for you."

Misery rubbed her temples. Mother addressing her by her full given name was a tell-tale sign that she was ready to enforce her will if necessary.

"Will you at least permit me to choose my own escort?"

Leandra raised an eyebrow curiously. "Oh? You already have someone in mind? The de Launcet party is tomorrow night after all."

"I… I don't know… perhaps Varric would accompany me."

"To what end? Having a potential suitor is the point of this, and surely you would not be seriously considering a _dwarf_."

"I'm not seriously considering _anyone_, but I've seen too much of the good and bad of everyone the world over to automatically rule someone out on account of their race."

Misery doubted those words would resonate even while speaking them. Her mother was no different than the vast majority of people in Thedas, where the prevailing custom was that you married within your own race, nationality, and social class. And while dwarves didn't suffer the same type of disdain in human dominated society as elves, human/dwarf pairings were very far from common and would still be borderline scandalous – both humans and dwarves would look down on it.

It was that ingrained, unconscious status quo that had kept Misery from ever considering that her feelings for Varric had become more than those of simply a close friend. And it was also why she'd never taken Bethany's suggestion that Varric was interested in more than friendship from her seriously.

"Mireille… he might be a good friend, but even if he was not a dwarf, from what Aveline has said of him, he is hardly suitable for a noblewoman to marry. On the other hand, the gentleman I have arranged for you to meet is of the royal family of Starkhaven. I only know a little about him, but apparently he shares your love of archery as well."

Leandra reached over and gently stroked her daughter's cheek, the soothing action seeking to wipe away the scowl from her face.

"Will you do this for me, Love? Allow Prince Vael to escort you to the party, and give him a fair chance to win your heart?"

Misery sighed. She knew that despite the phrasing, her mother wasn't asking. And she also knew her resistance was mostly from having this thrust upon her, as other than the loose end of Bartrand to tie up she had no real reason not to at least begin considering that part of her life.

"Very well…" she finally replied, sighing again in resignation. "I will play the dutiful daughter. However, I will not have an arranged marriage forced upon me. _If _I marry, it will be for love, social standing be damned. You know… just as _you _did."

"Ahhh… I suppose I do rather sound like my mother…" Leandra admitted. "I want what is best for you, but if you promise to cooperate with me on this issue, I will promise to leave the final decision to you. Can we agree on that much?"

Misery nodded slowly in agreement. She still didn't like it, but it was probably the most compromise she'd get at this point. Social mores being what they were, it was not only acceptable for parents to arrange a child's marriage, it was often expected – especially in the upper classes. That Misery didn't see herself as nobility didn't change the reality of her station. And being a fiercely independent grown woman didn't change the reality that she was wired to respect and honor her parents whether she liked it or not.

She knew her mother had given her much more leeway to chart her own course over the years than most children were, and that Mother had been growing increasingly impatient over her lack of progress on the marriage front. So she was actually rather surprised that Mother hadn't forced the issue before now. But even with that knowledge, she suspected the impetus now was as much about keeping her in Kirkwall as it was actually getting her married off.

On the heels of her suspicions about Varric doing the same, her conspiracy theory warning bells were going off loudly again. Not a conspiracy in the sense that Varric was involved in Mother's plot and vice versa, but rather a more general collusion where they were finding their own separate ways to accomplish the shared goal of keeping her from leaving again in pursuit of Bartrand. She'd play their game and not let them know she was on to their scheme, but if the opportunity afforded itself she'd bolt in a heartbeat.

After her mother left the room, Misery frowned at the slight tug of guilt she felt when the thought of Varric crept to the forefront of her mind. The urge to hide this from him was competing just as strongly with the urge to go lament to him. She wasn't sure why the situation felt wrong to her. She just knew it did. Even more confusing was the realization that she wanted Varric to be upset about it. She wasn't sure what to make of that, nor did she know what she wanted him to do in response.

-==0==-

Misery glanced up from the letter she was writing to Bethany to see Aveline storming into the study.

"You're coming with me," the guard-captain blurted without preamble.

"Excuse me?"

"A _very _unhappy Viscount Dumar sent me specifically to retrieve you. What have you done to garner his attention?"

Misery stared back curiously. "Unless you named me as the one who killed the blood mage and it has something to do with that, I have no idea. What did he say?"

"He didn't… I asked if you were in trouble, but he would only say that was between him and you. Hawke, the viscount doesn't invite citizens to his office for tea. Whatever he wants with you must be serious."

"And naturally you assume the worst of me."

"Put yourself in my boots. What would you think?"

Misery stood. "Believe what you will, but I've done nothing since my return to warrant negative attention from the viscount."

"I sincerely hope that's true."

"Aveline, I have never lied to you. Let you believe a false conclusion you'd already arrived at or withheld information, sure… But never lied. If I tell you I've done nothing, I've done nothing. At least nothing I'm actually aware of."

Aveline sighed, letting the tension drain from her expression. "Fair enough… you have my apologies. Come on then, let's go."

"Can I at least change first?"

Aveline smirked as she looked the other woman over. Misery was dressed casually in a dark blue ankle length dress with sleeves that tied off just below the elbows. It was a commonly seen style for Hightown women, a style no one would think twice about wearing in public. No one except Misery apparently.

"Maker's breath, Hawke," Aveline answered, chiding her playfully. "You don't need to get armed and armored to walk the short distance down Viscount's Way with me. If it makes you that nervous, I'll walk you home afterwards."

Misery grumbled but acquiesced after retrieving a pair of knee length leather boots with knife sheaths sewn into the sides.

-==0==-

Aveline and Misery entered Dumar's office to find him and the seneschal engaged in conversation.

"The compound was not meant to be permanent," Bran continued after using only his eyes to acknowledge the presence of visitors. "There are concerns the Qunari influence is… no longer contained."

"Was it ever?" Dumar replied, sighing in exasperation before standing and beginning to pace. "These Qunari sit like gargoyles waiting for Maker knows what, and everyone goes mad around them. As if the tension between templars and mages was not enough cause for concern. Nearly four years I have stood between fanatics…"

He scowled while gesturing towards something on his desk. "And now _this_."

Aveline gestured to her companion. "Misery Hawke, your Excellency. As you requested."

Dumar nodded. "Bran, Captain, you may leave us."

Both the seneschal and guard-captain looked like they wanted to protest. However, neither did, instead filing out in silence. Once they did, Dumar turned his attention to Misery.

"Meredith at my throat, Orsino at my heels, and the city scared of heretical giants," he began. "Balance has held because the Qunari ask for nothing. Even the space in Lowtown was a 'gift' to contain them."

Misery eyed him curiously. "Surely you didn't summon me here in order to brief me on civic affairs?"

Dumar scoffed. "It is most curious, Serah Hawke. The Arishok has requested you. By name. Tell me why he would do so."

"I have no idea. I met him once, years ago, right around the time I rescued Saemus if I remember correctly."

"Yes, I remember how you helped my son. It seems you are meant to have influence above your station. Now I need you to speak to the Arishok. Give him what he needs to keep the peace. Will you do that for Kirkwall, Serah Hawke?"

Misery sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Did he give any indication at all as to what he wants?"

"None. And if you think his asking me to notify you of this is strange, well… you would be right. But I have no interest in antagonizing the Arishok, which is partially why I suffer being reduced to a messenger today."

"You fear they will attack?"

Dumar closed his eyes briefly. "A treaty exists, and it has been honored thus far. I suspect if they came to conquer they would have already done so. Although… they claim they're waiting for a ship to be sent from Par Vollen, yet it's been three years. Clearly there is no rescue coming. They want something else. But they've shown no inclination to tell anyone what exactly that is. Perhaps the Arishok will tell you. Regardless, I need you to appease him. For all our sakes."

Misery resisted the urge to laugh at how preposterous this entire situation was. To listen to Dumar, the fate of the city was in _her _decidedly non-diplomatic hands. She couldn't wait to see Varric's reaction when she told him.

She nodded. "I will go speak with him."

"I wish you well. Good day, Serah."

Exiting the viscount's office, Misery wasn't remotely surprised to see Aveline was waiting. She smirked at the guard-captain as she walked past her without saying anything.

"Well?" Aveline asked impatiently as she fell in stride with her.

"Dumar asked me to go speak with the Arishok on behalf of Kirkwall. Look at me, a _diplomat_."

"Yeah, whatever. If you're not going to tell me, at least don't insult my intelligence with that nonsense."

Misery shrugged. "Go ask him yourself then. Or come with me to the Qunari compound and see."

Aveline stopped and grabbed Misery's arm. She quickly searched her expression. "Wait… you're serious?" she asked, the astonishment in her tone more than obvious.

When Misery merely nodded while continuing to grin smugly, Aveline shook her head. "Why would he send _you_ of all people? No offense, Misery, but you're much more apt to let your blades do the talking. I don't mean that as an insult, it's just who you are."

"Apparently the Arishok has requested me by name." Her expression turned more serious. "Honestly, I have no idea what the Arishok wants from me. I'm not sure why he would even remember me from one brief encounter years ago. I don't even remember actually giving him my name."

"It's been said that the Arishok has eyes and ears everywhere in the city. This makes me start to believe it. Whatever you did must have left an impression on him… I guess we'll find out if that's for better or for worse."

"So you are coming along then?"

"Damned right I am," Aveline answered.

"Well, I'm planning to go tomorrow morning after the seamstress is done poking and prodding me. I can come get you afterward. That is, assuming you didn't want come over and laugh at my expense while I suffer through the fitting."

"I'll go there. I can visit with Leandra if I have to wait on you. So don't leave without me, alright?"

"Why do I get the feeling you don't trust me to take care of this business with the Arishok?"

"I know you get things done. It's your methods that frighten me. Sometimes it feels like you are the center of a hurricane, eerily calm while destruction swirls all around you. And the mark you leave lingers long after you have moved on."

Misery shook her head slightly. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel about me?"

"You know I'm not going to blow smoke up your ass," Aveline answered unapologetically. "And I know you wouldn't want me to. Look, when I first met you the only thing you gave a damn about was your family. Gradually that expanded to include a handful of friends. I just think if you expanded that and cared about the whole city… you know, your _home_… there's no telling what you could accomplish. You could change the world if you put your mind to it. I mean that."

Misery sighed. "Right… because clearly I've been so successful at taking care of my family and friends that I should turn my attention to the well-being of thousands."

Without waiting for a reply she turned and resumed walking towards the exit.

-==0==-

"You are Hawke," a gravelly voice stated as Misery and company approached the Qunari compound.

Misery glanced to her left to see a Qunari warrior standing at attention. She hid her surprise at being recognized on sight and merely returned a nod in acknowledgment as her reply.

"A patrol went missing along the Wounded Coast," the man continued. "The Arishok says you have some semblance of honor. So tell me, did you kill them?"

This time Misery did show her surprise, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "How is it you suggest I have honor out of one side of your mouth, only to turn around and question if I randomly kill your people out the other side?"

She couldn't get a read on the stoic warrior's reaction because the helm he wore covered his face. But after a brief pause he answered, "Few are capable of doing so. Some believe you are one of those few. That is why I ask."

"Be that as it may, I have no quarrel with the Qunari and it has been the better part of two years since I've set foot on the Wounded Coast. I don't know what happened to your patrol."

That seemed to satisfy the warrior. "I believe you." He turned away, indicating the conversation was over.

Misery glanced over at Varric, who merely shrugged, then to Aveline and Fenris. The guard-captain appeared slightly on edge about the situation. Misery guessed that this encounter caused Aveline to question again if the Arishok had called her here over something she'd done. Fenris' expression was blank, which Misery supposed was an improvement over the semi-permanent scowl he typically wore.

She'd felt uncomfortable going back to the elf's estate and asking for his help so soon after her first visit. However, her pragmatism won out. Fenris was much more familiar with Qunari culture than she was, and the Arishok had commented favorably on his presence when they previously met. So Misery figured his presence this time could only help, particularly if she actually was in trouble with the Arishok for some reason. Having a Qunari warrior identify her and question her in regards to a missing patrol only reinforced to her that she'd made the right decision in asking Fenris along.

As they neared the gate to the compound, one of the Qunari guards stepped forward, prepared to stop the unwelcome visitors. However, his aggressive posture relaxed as recognition took hold.

"Hawke," he said. "All are forbidden. Except you… for now." The last of his words carried more than a hint of warning.

"What of my companions?" Misery asked. "Are they permitted to accompany me?"

"Yes," the guard answered, pausing before adding, "Their actions are your actions. You will be held accountable for them."

Misery smirked and turned to the others. "Did you hear that? Everyone play nice or else this doesn't end well for me. Hmm… that could just as easily be incentive for you all not to play nice, couldn't it? Perhaps I should go alone."

Varric returned the smirk. "Perhaps I should get Daisy to tattoo 'I have your back' on my forehead so you'll get the hint."

"Your forehead certainly has enough space for all the words," Aveline remarked dryly. "And grows larger with each passing year."

"Ouch…" Varric grumbled, pretending to be offended. "Commenting on a man's hairline is definitely not 'playing nice'."

Fenris sighed in exasperation. "_Perhaps _we should stop wasting their time."

Misery nodded. "Agreed. Let's go."

-==0==-

The Arishok was already sitting on his makeshift throne as Misery and the others approached.

"Serah Hawke," he said while leaning forward as if to get a better look. "Last we met, I did not know your name. Did not care to."

Misery remained silent, nodding in acknowledgment for him to continue.

"You have changed your fortune over the years. The Qunari have not. I offer a courtesy, Hawke. Someone has stolen what he thinks is the formula for gaatlok. You will want to hunt him."

She wanted to question how he apparently knew so much about her, but recognized this wasn't a social visit and that at least for now she should stay on topic.

"I… what is _gaatlok _and why would I care?"

"The explosive powder you once came here regarding. The stolen formula was a decoy. Saar-qamek – a poison gas, not explosives. A small amount is dangerous enough to your kind. But if made in quantity, perhaps by someone intending to sell it… would he be cautious? Or would he assume success and make enough to threaten an entire district? An entire city? As I said, a courtesy, Hawke. You will want to hunt him."

Varric shook his head. "Sad to say, but Tintop is very much the type of do something really stupid like this."

"His crime seems obvious," the Arishok said. "I would not wait."

Misery shook her head as well, except in bewilderment. "Why would you give this to _me _to deal with? Shouldn't this be the City Guard's problem?"

"Yes," Aveline answered, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.

The Arishok waved a hand dismissively. "You, Hawke, are capable. I cannot say the same for your _Guard_. I have yet to decide, however, if you are capable of… understanding. Save your streets from this fool dwarf. Then we will talk."

Aveline bristled visibly at the insult directed her way, but opted not to verbally protest his accusation. Instead she asked, "Arishok, is this poison gas not a threat to your people too?"

"No," he answered, maintaining eye contact with Misery, as if the guard-captain wasn't worthy of speaking directly to. "It is no threat to Qunari. For your kind it is as dangerous as those who breathe it. The gas kills… eventually. But first it clouds the mind and turns allies against each other in a blind rage. So, the greater the skill of those sent against us, the greater the threat they become to their own people."

Varric whistled low. "Pretty damned brilliant if you ask me."

Misery nodded at him before turning back to the Arishok. "Do you have an idea of where Tinhead might have gone?"

"You should determine that for yourself. It is not my concern."

"He'd have needed serious help to pull off something like this." Varric said, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "We'll check with the Carta and maybe the Coterie."

"Alright then," she replied. "Thank you, Arishok. I will look into it."

He nodded in acknowledgment. "Panahedan, Hawke. It will be interesting to see if you die."

Misery couldn't suppress the grin that formed at that parting comment. She didn't know why, but she rather liked his dry wit.

-==0==-

"Who does he think he is?" Aveline exclaimed in anger once they were out of earshot of the compound.

Varric shrugged. "Apparently someone about as impressed with the Guard's 'appearance of force' as I am."

"That's not fair, Varric."

He shrugged again, his expression unapologetic. "All I'm saying is that if I wanted something important done, Misery would be my first, second, and third choice too. She's relentless to a fault and not hamstrung by petty political bullshit."

"It makes no sense for the Arishok to know anything about me," Misery said, choosing to leave Varric's remarks alone. "Did he have me watched after that incident with Tinhead a few years ago? And if he knows that much about me, what makes him think I actually care what Tinhead does with the saar-qamek formula?"

Varric rubbed his chin. "He said he was undecided on whether or not you're capable of understanding, whatever that means. I'd say he's testing you, but I don't know why."

"Great… I get to waste my time running an errand while he sits back and judges it?"

Aveline's scowl deepened. "Waste your time? So you don't care if that stupid dwarf sends the city hurtling into chaos?"

"Why should I? That's _your_ problem. The only reason I'm going to bother with this is because I agreed to Dumar's request to appease the Arishok, and to do so means hunting Tinhead like he told me to. And before you look down your nose at me, don't forget how quickly you agreed when I asked the Arishok why he requested me instead of you."

"It _is _the Guard's responsibility! Are you even going to investigate? Or are you going to just go take out Tintop and wash your hands of it?"

Misery's eyes narrowed as her temper began to ignite. "You want to resent me for doing what you can't or won't do, fine. But you don't get to use me to do _your_ dirty work and then turn around and chastise me or worse when I do it for someone other than you!"

"The Emeric job wasn't supposed to be dirty work!" Aveline hissed.

"Was it my fault I was attacked by demons the moment I entered the estate? And there was evidence all over his place that he was a blood mage and involved in illegal stuff, not to mention he had a woman held captive that fit the profile of the other missing women! What the fuck did you and your people actually _investigate_ that you couldn't discover what I turned up in under an hour?"

"I'm not having this argument, Hawke. I'll just say it's a lot easier when you get to focus on one thing at a time rather than fifty."

Misery shook her head. "Something either matters or it doesn't. If it doesn't, you don't bother with it. If it does, you put the effort into dealing with it. If you don't have the resources to deal with what matters, you figure out how to get them!"

"Must be nice to live in a world that black and white!"

"And yet _you _are the one always telling _me _there aren't supposed to be shades of gray when it comes to the law!"

Fenris sighed in exasperation. "Is there a plan here, or will you two simply shout at each other for the amusement of the crowd you are gathering?"

The two women glanced around to realize Fenris was right about their bickering creating a scene. Before either could speak, however, Varric cleared his throat.

"Meet at Hawke's in the morning for breakfast," he said. "I should have some leads to follow up on by then."

"Fine…" Aveline muttered and then left immediately. Fenris nodded and went his own way as well.

"So…" Varric began after he and Misery had walked a short distance in the direction of The Hanged Man. "I could use a drink after that. How about I buy you one too?"

Misery looked up to the sky. Even through the smog of Lowtown she could tell it was mid-afternoon already.

"I'll have to pass, unfortunately. I need to go prepare for a fancy party Mother is dragging me to."

Varric laughed. "I'd say 'this I gotta see', but that sour expression makes me think you'll punch me if I do."

"I don't care. I'd have invited you to suffer through Orlesian pomp and circumstance with me, but Mother had other ideas."

"Oh?"

Misery sighed and waved a hand. "Forget it… it's nothing."

Varric stared at her curiously for a moment, wondering what was behind the expression that seemed to be contradicting her dismissive words. But he also knew it was pointless to pry. Once she decided she didn't want to talk about something she hardly ever changed her mind right away. So he left her to her thoughts, walking her to the Great Stairs before parting ways.

However, despite his joking delivery earlier, the chance to see Misery dressed to the nines was an irresistible urge. His mind was already working on a plausible excuse to conveniently stop by her estate before she and her mother left.

-==0==-

"My lady? Your guest has arrived," Bodahn said after knocking on her door.

Misery sighed deeply, exhaling slowly in an attempt to push her anxiety away. Preparing for a formal party reminded her that she hadn't been to such an event since DuPuis', and while she knew it made little sense to still dwell on that, especially after having finally killed him, the thoughts came to mind anyway. She was beginning to realize that moving past the assault wasn't as simple as completing her revenge.

Coaching a polite smile on to her face, she exited the room and went downstairs to meet this Prince Vael her Mother arranged to accompany her.

"You must be Mireille," the man said as she approached.

"Misery," she immediately corrected. "Do _not _call me Mireille."

His eyes opened wide and then went distant as he wondered why that name seemed familiar.

"Misery…" he said slowly, as if sounding out the name would jog his memory. "Forgive me. I am Sebastian Vael. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He reached out and took her right hand in his before blinking in surprise and staring at the hand encased within an elbow length glove. He blushed upon realizing his faux pas, which drew a smirk from her.

"I left the rest of it in the Deep Roads."

"The Deep Roads?" he asked in obvious astonishment. "You are an adventurer?"

"At times."

She thought he looked vaguely familiar, but after he gave his first name it finally clicked.

"Sometimes I take on work people can't or won't do themselves, such as, oh, getting rid of mercenaries someone posted a bounty on."

Sebastian's mouth dropped open in shock as he suddenly realized where he knew her from. "You! Of course! Misery Hawke… now I remember."

Just then Leandra came into the room. "Ahhh, Sebastian. I see you have met-"

"_Misery_," her daughter finished. Leandra flashed a glare of disapproval but Misery didn't back off.

"Mother, to the rest of Kirkwall I am Misery Hawke. Please don't confuse the issue with a name I haven't gone by in years, since Ferelden."

Sebastian coughed uncomfortably as mother and daughter continued a silent battle of wills.

"Y-yes, well…" he began. "It so turns out that we have previously met. Your daughter… answered a posting I'd made on the Chanter's Board a few years ago to… erm… _subjugate _a group of mercenaries that murdered my family."

Misery burst out laughing. "Mother, he means to say I killed a bunch of people on his behalf, and then he paid me for it."

Leandra's expression turned to one of mortification. "Maker's breath…" she whispered.

"Ummm… shall we go?" Sebastian asked.

Just then there was a knock at the front door.

"Are we expecting anyone else?" Misery asked her mother, who shook her head.

Bodahn answered the door, and the grin of amusement Misery had been wearing from the delightfully awkward situation was wiped clean by Varric sauntering into the room.

"V-varric?" she asked softly.

The dwarf's eyes flicked back and forth between Misery, Sebastian, and Leandra before settling back on Misery. He quickly realized what was going on and felt a knot forming in his stomach.

"You look great…" he said, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I…ummm… am here for the pup. You know… boys night out and all. Revas, you ready to go play cards with Fenris and Blondie?"

Revas barked and got up from his spot next to the fireplace.

Sebastian looked confused. "Your dog plays cards?"

"Excuse me for one moment, please," Misery said, striding towards Varric. She grabbed his arm and tugged him out into the foyer.

"Why did you really come here?" she asked in a quiet, stern tone.

"Just thought the pup could use a night on the town with the fellows while you were at your party."

Misery eyed him skeptically. "That's the only reason?"

"It's not like I knew about your date. So I wasn't trying to interrupt anything if that's what you're asking. You really do look great, by the way. Sunshine was right about how well you clean up."

He was fighting to keep his emotions from becoming visible, and knew he needed to extract himself from here before they led him to say something he wouldn't be able to undo. And he had no intention of ruining her night by transferring his hurt on to her.

"Varric…"

He waved his hand. "You need to go. He's waiting on you. I won't disturb you when I bring Revas back later. Come on, boy."

Misery frowned. "Don't be like-"

"Stop, alright?" Varric said, interrupting her. "You didn't want to tell me earlier and you don't owe me an explanation now. I'll see you in the morning about the Tintop job."

He turned and left with Revas, leaving Misery to reluctantly return to her mother and Sebastian.

* * *

_AN: Thank you again to xseikax for her helpful beta work. I appreciate it!_


	5. Dancing Around

Standing next to her mother among a small circle of women, Misery fought not to roll her eyes or sigh in boredom with the conversation, which was mostly gossip about the events of the day and other nobles not currently present. While she succeeded in outwardly maintaining her mask of polite semi-attentiveness, inwardly she was groaning and wishing it was time to leave. Yet a glance over at her mother told her they weren't going anywhere anytime soon, since Leandra seemed to be just as engaged by the mindless drivel as the other women.

Misery had also quickly understood what her mother meant about Dulci de Launcet - her being the perfect woman for Guillaume, and that telling her everything she needed to know about why Leandra eloped with Malcolm Hawke. Dulci couldn't be more different than Leandra.

The boisterous Orlesian woman had a loud, borderline whiny voice that no exotic accent could make attractive. But it somehow perfectly fit someone who seemingly went out of their way to be the center of attention. For awhile Misery amused herself with the idea of going around torturing her friends by mimicking Dulci's manner of speech.

Misery also remembered what she'd once told Bethany about nobility being as much a state of mind and lifestyle as it was material wealth, and this party was only reinforcing her belief that she'd never be _nobility_. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if this was what life was like when you had nothing productive to do with your time – worrying about the pettiest of things and feigning interest in your neighbors' equally dull lives. She planned to ask Varric to shoot her if she ever got like this.

Varric… the thought of him about now should make her smirk - and it would if she was imagining him having a laugh at her expense over this party. Except she wasn't imagining that. She'd seen his initial surprise turn to aloofness and could guess that he was covering up irritation with her. What she couldn't decide was if he was irritated at her questioning his motive in coming to her estate, or if it was because of Sebastian.

She believed him when he said that he had stopped by for Revas, but she didn't believe that was all there was to it. The timing was too fishy, especially when he'd never done that sort of thing before, nor mentioned anything about it earlier in the day. She wondered if behind his teasing demeanor he'd actually been serious about wanting to see her all dressed up. If so, was it mere morbid curiosity or genuine interest?

Despite Bethany once suggesting to her that Varric might care for her beyond friendship, Misery had never seen or heard anything from him that made her believe it, and as such had never consciously considered the possibility. Then again, in the five years since Ostagar her life had been such a whirlwind of instability that thoughts of impractical things such as a love life were few and far between. And even before that the overriding concern of protecting her family had left her little room for a personal life.

With her mother pushing her to address that part of her life, however, she was finding herself spending more time contemplating such things. And she was beginning to find the thought of Varric caring for her appealing, with a slight flicker of hope that was the case even if it was potentially fraught with problems.

Misery's thoughts were interrupted by Sebastian returning to her side.

"A dance, my lady?" he asked, holding out his hand while nodding towards the center of the room where a number of other couples danced to the accompaniment of a quartet of musicians.

Misery frowned slightly. "I… I don't know how. I've never danced before."

"With your grace, I imagine you'll pick up the steps quite easily." In a quieter voice he added, "And it is not as if you'll be any worse than some of the others already dancing."

"Go," Leandra said, encouraging her daughter with a smile and a nudge. Misery reluctantly complied and gave her hand for Sebastian to take.

Walking towards the dancing couples, Sebastian leaned in closer and whispered, "You can relax. This should be more pleasant than waiting to die of boredom."

Misery chuckled softly and loosened her grip on his hand. "I was that obvious?"

"Perhaps not obvious, but you know how these parties are. At least half the attendees are pretending to enjoy themselves while secretly counting the minutes until they can leave without it being impolite."

"If you say so. I'm rather out of my element here."

"Oh? I would have thought you had plenty of experience with this sort of thing."

Misery reminded herself that he knew little more about her than she knew about him. "I didn't grow up nobility. Let's just leave it at that."

"As you wish," he answered with a sheepish smile while turning to face her. "Now, for the dance, this is what you'll do…"

-==0==-

"Oh, stop already," Varric groused as he and Revas crossed Hightown. "I know you had the hot hand- errr… paw, when I called it quits. I'll make it up to you next time."

After Revas barked again, Varric shook his head. "No, it wasn't because you were cleaning me out. If you didn't notice, even Blondie was ahead for the night, and you know how terrible he is. I'm just… preoccupied with something and not in the mood to be social."

Preoccupied was an understatement. Varric had spent most of the evening doing his best brooding Fenris imitation, and finally got tired enough of being asked what was wrong that he opted to leave.

He couldn't stop thinking about earlier – her elegant appearance, the scent of her perfume when she leaned in close… the initial guilty look that briefly replaced her smile before she caught herself and schooled her expression. And the curious stare from the admittedly handsome, well-dressed man standing close to her. _Too _close. Varric instantly disliked him.

There was also the slight glare directed at him by Leandra, the clear expression of a mother's disapproval. He could guess at the reasons for it – he was a vestige of a life and lifestyle Leandra wanted her daughter to cast off and forget, he was Bartrand's brother and all that implied, and probably even some general distrust of a Lowtown dwarf. She had Kirkwall nobility at her core, it was only natural.

Approaching the Hawke estate, Varric paused at the sound of Misery's almost musical laughter coming from the flower garden around the side. There was an easiness to it, a lightness he didn't often hear from her. It was followed soon after by equally comfortable laughter from the man with her. Varric couldn't imagine that she'd known him longer than the not quite two weeks she'd been back, but he also couldn't help but wonder how far along their relationship was.

Revas took off running towards his master, the action shaking Varric from his thoughts.

"Revas!" he shouted louder than he intended. "Wait!"

-==0==-

Sebastian sighed lightly and leaned back on the bench he shared with Misery in her flower garden. After returning from the party, Misery gave in to her mother's suggestion for her and Sebastian to spend a bit of time talking and getting to know each other. Though _gave in_ wasn't exactly accurate, as Misery wasn't terribly reluctant. She'd found him pleasant enough company at the party, and to her surprise she very much enjoyed dancing once she got past her initial apprehension.

"So, that is how a disgrace of a prince ends up exiled to the Chantry," Sebastian said.

Misery shook her head. "I know it happens, parents sending their children away for one reason or another, but it doesn't make sense to me. I'll never relate to valuing social status or power above family."

"Truthfully… I used to be very bitter. Eventually, however, I came to understand that the Maker had a plan for my life and needed to get me out of the self-destructive life I was living. And I know I would have perished with the rest of my family had I still been in Starkhaven."

Misery didn't reply. Her initial thought was to scoff at his defeatist attitude, to look down on him for assuming he'd have been killed too. But she quickly realized that the hubris rising in her at that moment was misplaced. Her own presence had done nothing for Carver, for Bethany. And she had no rational reason to believe she could have made a difference with her father either.

She also opted not to comment on his questionable theology regarding the Maker being actively involved in this world. Given her slightly better than common knowledge of Chantry teachings, it didn't make any more sense to her now than when Elthina suggested a similar thing years ago.

After a lengthy silence, Sebastian looked at Misery and smiled. "You are not what I expected."

"Oh?"

"Yes, when I agreed to meet you I was expecting a pampered, haughty noblewoman, and perhaps someone not nearly as beautiful. Then when I did meet you and discovered who you were, I expected you to be a hardened, brash woman who might be difficult to talk to. Yet you have been none of those things."

Misery shrugged in indifference at his assessment, though inwardly she smirked at his latter thoughts being more accurate than he realized. "If you were expecting so little, why did you even agree to it?"

"Elthina thought it would be… good for me. She called me over and suggested it while speaking with Lady Leandra."

Misery's eyes opened wide. "Elthina, as in Grand Cleric Elthina?"

Sebastian nodded.

"Mother only told me she'd been talking to an old friend. I never imagined she meant the grand cleric."

"Apparently they have known one another since Leandra was a child and Elthina a lay sister. Elthina also knows I desire a chaste marriage, a partner in service of the Maker if you will. So she introduced your mother to me."

"Chaste?"

Sebastian nodded again. "Yes, I have sworn off pleasures of the flesh. I took a vow of celibacy when I dedicated my body and soul to the Maker."

Misery's eyes lit in amusement and she was unable to stifle the laughter that began flowing.

"You mock me?" Sebastian asked, clearly taken aback.

"No, it's not that…" Misery began as she caught her breath. "Does my mother know this?"

"I… I would not think so. Why?"

Misery laughed again. "Mother is trying to marry me off so I can give her grandchildren. Celibacy is rather counterproductive to that."

Sebastian frowned at first and then began laughing along with her. "Yes, I can see now why you find it humorous." He frowned again. "Though I fear that does pose an irreconcilable conflict for both of us."

Just then the pair heard shouting from out front, and moments later Revas came bolting into the garden to join them. Misery and Sebastian got to their feet.

-==0==-

With the mabari ignoring his command to wait and continuing on through the gate into the garden, Varric sighed in exasperation, unsure of whether to simply turn around and leave or to at least say goodnight. The decision was taken out of his hands, however, when the three of them emerged from the garden.

"What's wrong?" Misery asked, noting his expression of consternation.

He recovered quickly. "Oh, I'd just told you earlier we wouldn't disturb you when I dropped him off, and then he went and did it anyway."

Misery laughed. "Revas is never a disturbance to me. You know that."

He shrugged in response. Her good mood was only worsening his. So much so that even the allure of her physical appearance was tarnished.

"You care a great deal for your dog," Sebastian said to Misery matter-of-factly.

Despite the innocent statement, Misery's eyes narrowed slightly as her warning bells began chiming in her head. She never liked it when people probed in an effort to understand the depth of her personal connections.

"Revas has been with me for half my life, since I was fourteen," she answered, "from Ferelden to Rivain and almost everywhere in between."

Sebastian nodded as he knelt down in front of the dog. "He is in remarkable condition for his age. It's easy to see he has been well maintained. I suspect you'll get more years out of him than most, barring him falling in battle that is."

Varric raised an eyebrow curiously at the man's implication that Revas was getting old. Was fourteen or fifteen old for a mabari that had been through as much as Revas had? He didn't know. Then again, Varric realized he still didn't know a whole lot about dogs in general. What he did know, however, was the glare Misery was leveling at the man. She clearly wasn't happy with the tenor of his statements.

Revas growled briefly, causing Sebastian to back away and look to Misery for help. Varric was rather pleased by the reaction and grinned smugly despite himself.

"He understands you," Misery said sharply. "And I doubt you would appreciate it either if someone was evaluating _your_ usefulness and mortality in such an impersonal manner right in front of you."

"I… see… forgive me. I have experience with horses, but they are not as intelligent as your Revas appears to be."

When an uncomfortable silence ensued, Sebastian turned to Varric. "I also apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I am Sebastian Vael, a brother of the Chantry in service of the Maker. You are… Varric I think it was?"

"Wait, you're that choir boy we did a job for a few years ago?"

"Perhaps not a choir boy, but it is as you say."

Varric's mind was racing as he attempted to figure out why Misery was with this guy. He'd have guessed her mother put her up to it, except Misery seemed content enough with his company.

For her part, Misery was ready to be done with the small talk. She looked at Sebastian. "Speaking of jobs, I have one in the morning I'll need to be sharp for, so it's time for me to retire." With a smirk she added, "Thank you again for saving me from death by boredom."

Sebastian laughed. "It was my pleasure, my lady. And I daresay you took to the dance even better than I anticipated."

"It helped when I began thinking of it as shadow fighting, albeit far less efficient in its movement."

"An effective way of looking at it nonetheless." Sebastian smiled while offering a formal bow. "I will take my leave then and return to the Chantry with my imaginary stab wounds. Maker's blessings, Lady Misery. And to you as well, Varric."

"Too bad they're only imaginary…" Varric grumbled under his breath as Sebastian strolled away.

"What's that, Varric?" Misery asked, not having made out what he said.

He waved his hand dismissively. "See you in the morning," he answered and walked off.

Misery shook her head at the dwarf's retreating form, but ignored the urge to call after him. Instead she took Revas and went inside.

-==0==-

Having finished fastening her weapons to her armor, Misery closed her eyes and twirled, reenacting steps from one of the previous night's dances. With the stress of needing to determine if Sebastian was the right man for her no longer present, she was carefree in thinking of the one part of the evening she had very much enjoyed.

It helped that she took to dancing rather naturally with Sebastian patiently guiding and instructing her, and that it wasn't long before she was drawing positive attention for a change. Even her mother practically gushed over her, which was a far cry from her usual manner when speaking of her oldest. Typically Leandra's words were at best carefully measured.

Misery didn't realize it, but even more than the compliments she received from the other nobles, it was hearing her mother speak of her with open pride that pierced through her darkness and caused a long dormant light to flicker in her core. Nor did Misery realize that tied up in her enthusiasm for dancing was the rare positive self-image it gave her.

Too often she saw her skills, and consequently herself, as mere tools, and judged both based on their usefulness and effectiveness. So when others complimented her it was all too easy to process the words through the same filter, believing it was her usefulness that was being shown appreciation, not simply her. Even though having her dancing complimented was still being appreciated for a skill and not just for the person she was, having it decoupled from thoughts of 'usefulness' was enough for her to accept the compliments at face value, and to leave her in high spirits.

Also lifting her spirits was the wonderful conversation she'd had with her mother earlier that morning. Misery half expected to take grief over things not working out with Sebastian, even though it was hardly her fault that he'd sworn celibacy and was only after a chaste marriage. To her pleasant surprise, however, her mother shared a laugh with her over it and went so far as to praise her for making a sincere effort.

The end result was Misery briefly setting aside all of her burdens, both real and perceived, and reveling in a decidedly un-Misery-like moment of happiness as she danced and sang her way around her room. That was, until she turned and saw a wide-eyed Varric standing in the doorway to her room.

She shrieked in surprise.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked.

"No one answered the door," he explained, "so I let myself in."

"I… didn't hear the door. Bodahn took Mother and Sandal to the market, so it's just Revas and me here. Why didn't you at least call out when you came in?"

Varric grinned mischievously. "Well, at first I was worried that someone was strangling you up here, but I should've guessed that wasn't it by the pup whimpering with his paws over his ears. I hate to break the bad news to you, but you have no future as a tavern bard."

Despite his teasing words, Misery noted the tone of his delivery lacked its typical mirth. But she settled on her own sarcastic reply anyway. "That's hardly news to me. There's a reason why I only sing when no one else is around. Congratulations on learning my dark secret."

"Next time Aveline accuses you of not caring about Kirkwall, tell her you sparing everyone's ears is proof that she's wrong."

"Glad my lack of talent is a source of amusement for you."

"And here I thought the great Misery Hawke could do anything. Way to go bursting my bubbles."

Misery smirked. "Whatever. I'd bet you could sit down right now and pen a several page list of just the shortcomings of mine you know about."

"Good point, actually."

Despite maintaining her sarcastic expression, Misery was getting frustrated with what she saw as a mean-spirited edge to his teasing. She could easily guess that it was carryover from the night before, but she would rather he just came out and said what he wanted to say.

"Anyway…" she began, changing the subject, "Before he left, Bodahn said he put a couple of platters in the dining room. I haven't been down there to see for myself, but what he prepares is usually good."

Varric shook his head as he continued to grin. "At least I have the excuse for not eating of having to walk from Lowtown. You only had to walk downstairs. You wouldn't make a proper dwarf, that's for sure."

"Add it to my list," she muttered while brushing past him.

Her reaction made him want to smack himself in the forehead. He wasn't going to lie to himself that his aggressive sarcasm wasn't a jealous response to finding her so happily dancing – something he instantly connected to what she and Choirboy bantered about the previous night. Yet even with the sting of jealousy he felt, he never intended to tear down that happiness as he'd just done.

"Hey…" he said, catching up to her outside the room. "I'm-"

"Hawke!" Aveline bellowed from downstairs.

Without glancing back, Misery gestured towards the railing overlooking the main room below. "That's how you let someone know you've arrived."

"I… yeah… sorry for being an ass just now…" he said.

Misery did glance back this time, but merely shrugged before calling out to Aveline and continuing towards the stairs. Though she accepted the apology, it wasn't enough to salvage her prior good mood.

Varric silently cursed the bad timing of others beginning to arrive, because his original intention in coming early was to talk to her, to clear the air between them and depending on how that went, potentially be more direct about his feelings. He knew he just blew that chance. And he knew her more than well enough to know that her indifferent shrug was anything but indifferent. It meant he'd pushed too far and she was withdrawing. He was left hoping the mission would go well and he'd get another shot afterwards.

-==0==-

Merrill gripped her shortbow nervously as the group made their way through a series of smuggler's tunnels leading from Darktown to the wilderness outside the city, yet again second guessing her decision not to carry her staff. On the one hand, she'd practiced enough over the past few years to feel competent as an archer. On the other, she didn't have enough experience doing it in the heat of battle to feel completely comfortable. Providing a small measure of comfort, however, was the thought that with where they were, she wouldn't need to keep her magic hidden if the situation turned hostile.

Varric had led them to a Coterie woman who was auctioning off Javaris Tintop's assets for non-payment of dues of some sort, and she in turn pointed them to the location known as Smuggler's Cut. The undercity passage was teeming with brigands belonging to various organized crime factions, and while the group hadn't seen combat to this point, the glares they were drawing all along the way left Merrill feeling strung as tightly as her bow, as if they were constantly on the cusp of battle.

The elf's nervousness wasn't helped by the unusually tense mood of the others in the group. Misery being very quiet wasn't unusual in and of itself, though it was unusual that Varric had specifically suggested she maintain a low profile given her history with both the Carta and Coterie. Misery, who hadn't said much all morning up until then, hadn't spoken a single word since entering the smuggler's passage and appeared very much on edge.

As if Revas sensed something was off, he was clinging closely to his master's side. Merrill envied his relationship with Misery. Not that she wanted Misery as a master or anything of the sort, rather she wished she could be that quiet source of reassurance to Misery that Revas often was, that she could be loved so completely by Misery the way Revas was.

Aveline was a mask of grim determination, though Merrill wasn't sure if it was just that the guard-captain was fighting the urge to arrest every criminal they passed. What Merrill was sure of was that the rhythmic pounding of Aveline's plate armor in motion only made the otherwise near silence surrounding their group that much more oppressive, and the charged atmosphere that much more unsettling. The elf wondered if the guard-captain merely being present was serving as a deterrent, causing the gangs to take a wait and see approach rather than aggressively moving against them.

Mostly it was Varric's ongoing silence that had Merrill concerned. Varric was almost never quiet. He was a chatterbox who always had a story at the ready if there was no other conversation. Today, however, he showed no interest in making conversation or telling stories. Other than occasionally issuing directional commands and being the one to deal with the Coterie barker earlier, he was only speaking when spoken to. And since no one else was speaking, it meant he wasn't either. Merrill didn't know the reason for his reticence, but she knew it was making her uncomfortable.

The elf subconsciously allowed herself to relax a bit when they finally exited the passage into a large cavern and could see daylight at the opposite end. Her respite was short-lived, however. A sharp intake of breath from Misery drew her attention, and she followed the rogue's gaze to the cavern's ceiling, where a large number of giant spiders clung to an interwoven network of webs.

"Great…" Varric muttered sarcastically, hoisting Bianca into position. Merrill readied an arrow and Aveline drew her sword in preparation, while Misery made no move to do anything.

They all knew of Misery's arachnophobia and that they couldn't count on much, if any, help from her in a fight. Still, she wasn't turning hysterical, which was progress.

"Daisy," Varric began, "I think our best bet is if you torch the nests with fireballs before they can get the drop on us… literally."

Merrill nodded and stepped forward, preparing to cast. Then Misery raised her hand.

"No…" she said softly. "Leave them alone."

"Come again?" Varric asked in surprise.

Misery took a deep breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the spiders yet doing everything she could to calm her fraying nerves. "This passage is well trafficked, right? I… I think if those things were a problem… others would have cleaned them out and kept them cleaned out. So… we're going to try not to provoke them."

"Saunter through and hope for the best?" Varric asked.

Misery's lips trembled slightly, as if she was trying to smirk but couldn't get her mouth to cooperate. "Do what you will, but I don't _saunter _anywhere and am not about to here. I am making a dash for it."

Her legs felt heavy under the weight of anxiety and it took nearly a minute to will her body into motion. She stumbled ungracefully at first, but managed to catch herself from falling and regain motor control, quickly gaining speed and pulling away from all but Revas.

The sprint was only fifty yards or so, but the feeling of having run a gauntlet left her sucking wind after emerging safely outside. She was relieved when her other companions joined her, knowing she wasn't going to potentially need to turn around and go back to assist if one or more of them hadn't been able to get through without being attacked.

Misery's nerves hadn't completely settled down by the time they found Javaris Tintop a short distance from the cavern. The dwarf had a dozen mercenaries gathered around him. At first glance it didn't appear they were on the move, but it also didn't seem as if what passed for their camp was anything but temporary.

"Tintop!" Varric shouted as they got within eyesight. "We need to talk!"

The other dwarf scowled as recognition took hold, and he immediately jumped to the conclusion that Tethras and his companions had been hired to come after him. Their drawn weapons only pushed along that thought process.

"Don't come any closer, or my men will attack!" he warned.

"Not a good idea, trust me!" Varric called back, his tone laced with mirth. While he had no interest in a conflict here, he also wasn't terribly worried about the odds if it did come to that, even as Tintop's mercs took up threatening positions. After all, he couldn't imagine the cheapskate spending enough coin on his hired help to get quality.

Unbeknownst to her companions, Misery had once again mentally checked out on the present. It wasn't panic induced, however. Instead, the situation in front of them made for a short leap to thinking of another dwarf who kept a host of mercenaries around him for protection. Images flashed back through her mind in rapid fire succession. Without consciously realizing she was doing it, Misery readied and turned loose an arrow.

Varric blinked in surprise at the muffled _twang_ behind him followed almost instantaneously by the _pfft _of an arrow carving through the air above his head. When he refocused his vision, he could see Javaris dropping to his knees with an arrow sticking out of his upper stomach.

Misery growled in anger with herself and quickly readied another arrow. She was still too used to judging trajectory based on the stronger force generated by her old Arlathan longbow, and wasn't happy that her shot landed a good 9-10 inches below the throat she'd targeted. Before she could get off another shot, however, the mercenaries swarming into action cut off her sight line to Javaris. She quickly shifted her attention and fired on the one at the head of the pack that was charging them.

Varric and Aveline both cursed, angry at Misery for forcing a confrontation with no warning and for seemingly no purpose. But little was to be done about it now other than fight for their lives. The guard-captain and Revas moved forward to intercept, while Varric, Merrill, and Misery automatically spread out in order to attack without hitting their companions engaged in melee.

Varric was glad he was right, that Tintop hadn't learned his lesson from the past and was still being a spendthrift when it came to his protection. The mercenaries were little more than loosely organized thugs, having no sense of strategy for taking advantage of their greater numbers. Their every man for himself approach resulted in more than half falling in quick succession. Seeing a lost cause, several turned tail and fled the scene, leaving Javaris on his own.

Varric glared briefly at Misery, who pointedly ignored him.

"So much for your men," Varric groused as they approached the dwarven merchant, who still managed to scowl even while lying on the ground with blood seeping through the fingers he held over his wound.

"Figures she'd hire _you_," Javaris grumbled before choking slightly in pain. "Fine… take my head back to that sodding elf! I need the rest."

Varric shook his head. "Sounds like you've made yourself quite popular. But no, this has nothing to do with an elf. The Arishok send us to stop you before you used that formula you stole. It's a decoy, for a poison gas instead of the powder."

"Bitch-born!" Javaris exclaimed. "That sodding elf got the Qunari after me anyway! I don't have their formula, so you're here for nothing!"

Varric leaned forward and grasped the shaft of the arrow in Javaris' stomach and yanked, frowning slightly when it came out without the arrowhead attached. Tossing it aside, he reached into his pack for a healing potion that he handed to the other dwarf.

"Here… it'll help. You'll need to find someone to remove the rest later though."

His motivation wasn't concern for Javaris' health, but rather knowledge that giving the perception of kindness was more liable to gain useful information than simply interrogating him while he bled.

While Javaris choked down the potion, Varric continued, "So what's this about an elf? Business partner?"

"Hardly… never met her until she showed up on my doorstep, says she's got the Qunari powder and I'm her cover. So she tries to kill me, but I manage to slip away, hire some bodyguards, and make a run for it. You see how well that turned out."

Aveline stared suspiciously. "If you're innocent, why not go to the Arishok with this information?"

"Ha! He'd probably have me killed on principle, innocence be damned. Look, if the Arishok is only after the one who stole his formula, you need to go find the elf. I don't know who she is or who she works for, but I had her tracked to a dump in Lowtown near the alienage."

"Give me the address," Varric said.

"You'd have to ask my man," Javaris began while gesturing towards one of the dead bodies. "There he is… thanks for that."

Varric rubbed his face in frustration, flashing another irritated glance at Misery before turning back to the dwarf. "You have anything else that might help us?"

"Bah! I just want to get out of here. Somewhere away from this forsaken city."

"Go then…" Aveline said. "And don't bother coming back."

"Right…" Javaris said sarcastically before turning his back and kneeling to go through the pockets of the dead mercenaries. The others turned away as well, assuming the plan was to head to Lowtown and see what they could turn up.

"Sodding bunch of…" Javaris continued in a low grumble that was still loud enough to be heard. "…take a long breath on a short shaft you… blasted dog lord in-roaders…"

A moment later a gasp came from his lips. Most of the others turned just in time to see him fall over dead with a knife sticking out of the back of his neck. Misery slowly lowered her extended arm before stalking forward and retrieving her blade.

"What was that for?" Aveline asked incredulously.

Misery didn't acknowledge the question or the shocked expressions worn by her companions.

Varric sighed in exasperation. "Seriously, Misery, what was that about?"

When Misery still didn't respond, Aveline exclaimed, "Hawke! Stop ignoring us!"

"What do you want from me?" the rogue demanded.

"An explanation!" Aveline countered. "Why did you kill him?"

The shadow of doubt passed almost imperceptibly across Misery's face before defiance took hold. "For not being smart enough to keep his opinions to himself!"

Varric and Aveline exchanged glances before staring dumbfounded at Misery. Merrill closed her eyes and looked away. She hated when Misery got that wild look in her eyes.

"Let me get this straight," Aveline said, "you took the man's life for _insulting_ us?"

Misery shrugged while returning her knife to its sheath. "I wasn't convinced letting Bartrand go was the right decision anyway, so that just made up my mind for me."

"Bartrand?" Varric asked. "Don't you mean Tintop?"

Misery waved her hand in irritation. "Tinhead, right, whatever… point remains."

Aveline grabbed her by the shoulders. "The _point _is you _murdered_ Javaris Tintop in cold blood!"

"Who cares? If his story about the elf is bullshit, it just saves me the hassle of tracking him down again later."

"That's an awfully big 'if' there," Varric noted.

Misery couldn't miss the disappointment in her on his face. With her emotions already bouncing erratically and feeling pushed into a corner, she reacted poorly to it.

"If you don't like the way I'm handling this stupid job for the Arishok, feel free to leave," she hissed in defiance. Then she whirled on Aveline. "And you! Stuff the self-righteous attitude, because if we'd done things your way you would have had us murder a man just to get into Kirkwall!"

"That was years ago!" the guard-captain protested. "And it was a completely different situation!"

Misery ignored her and glared at Merrill. "What about you? Have your own two bits to add?"

"No…" the elf answered, shaking her head sadly while purposely avoiding eye contact. "Other than I think we should go now."

"Agreed, let's go." Misery didn't wait for further acknowledgment as she stormed back towards the cavern, already beginning to dread making another run past the spiders. While Revas and Merrill moved quickly after her, Aveline and Varric trailed much further behind.

"You as troubled by her behavior as I am?" Aveline asked.

Varric sighed. "Yeah… sad thing is, this morning I found her happier than I've ever seen her. I teased her a bit and she got pissed off, and it's been all downhill since then. Even though she put it on me to decide if I wanted to leave, I think she'd probably prefer it if I did."

"You're not going anywhere."

Varric raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I know that, but what makes you say so?"

Aveline cast a rather bitter glare in his direction. "In case you haven't noticed, you're the only one she truly listens to anymore. The way she's going you might need to use that influence to save her from herself, before she puts me in a situation where I can't justify cutting her a break."

He scoffed lightly, but didn't say anything in reply. His frustration with Misery caused him to overlook the assertion that he had more influence with her than anyone in favor of focusing on Aveline being more worried about the position Misery was putting her in than about Misery herself. He suspected Aveline didn't quite mean it like that, but then again, worrying about something only in terms of how it affected you personally was hardly an unusual attitude in Kirkwall.

Beyond his frustration was unease with how casually Misery took Tintop's life, though not because of the act itself. After all, he knew as well as anyone that killing was part of the game and that calling it 'business' didn't change the morbid reality of a lifestyle that sometimes involved killing for profit or protection. Rather, it was the first time he'd seen her kill with no purpose other than simply because she could. The sheer pointlessness of it from someone who was normally so keenly practical bothered him.

Also bothering him was the way she'd said 'Bartrand'. He didn't believe it was a simple, meaningless slip of the tongue, nor did he believe she could have possibly mistaken Tintop for Bartrand. Well, they did have the same height and build, same hair and eye color, same hair style, and even similar beards.

Alright, he conceded, a human _could_ potentially mistake one for the other at a distance. But he knew Misery hadn't made that mistake in that situation. And having watched her fall further and further in her obsession since the original expedition, he was left contemplating if it was time to concoct a story to convince her Bartrand was dead, and hope it never came back to bite him.

-==0==-

Misery continued to fume as the group made its way back the way they came, glaring hostilely at every smuggler, thief, and gang member they passed, her body language openly daring them to make a move on her. Finding no takers, however, left no distraction from dwelling on her earlier actions and their consequences. And the more she thought about what she did, the worse she felt. By the time the group got to Lowtown, the anger she had previously misplaced on her companions was resting squarely on her own shoulders.

As had been the case in the aftermath of Gascard DuPuis' murder, Misery was angry with herself for losing control. Flashbacks of Bartrand resulted in her firing on Tintop without giving any consideration as to what she was doing, and if her original aim had been true he would have been dead before they could even get any information out of him. It had been the height of stupidity.

Then she snapped over a stupid derogatory reference she'd heard hundreds of times over the years. Worse still, she had no memory of the time between Tintop's insult and seeing him slump over with her knife in his neck. If not for the obviousness of it being her knife and seeing her arm was extended from the throwing motion, she might not have even realized it had been her that did it.

That scared her.

Exacerbating her fear was already feeling rather uneasy with herself after her handling of DuPuis, something she was still barely a week removed from. So she was finding it difficult not to overreact, particularly while being on edge from Varric's general behavior coupled with walking a gauntlet of lowlifes that would probably attack on sight if they knew who she was. Not to mention the damned spiders.

Lowlifes… Misery came to the realization that what she did to Tintop made her nothing but a common thug, no different than ones she'd collected bounties on in the past. She hated herself for it even more than she hated the open disapproval from her companions, and secretly prayed that Javaris was lying about the elf, which would validate her admittedly weak after the fact excuse and ease her conscience.

Regardless of that outcome, whereas a younger Misery either wouldn't recognize or wouldn't care that she'd put the others in a bad situation and then vilified them afterwards for calling her on it, the person she was now at least understood what she'd done, and that apologies were owed.

The guilt carried by that knowledge continued to tap her self-loathing buttons until she finally just stopped in the middle of the street and turned around to face everyone.

"Problem?" Varric asked.

"I-I… I'm sorry…" she whispered.

The others exchanged curious glances before staring back at the female rogue.

"I'm not sure I heard what you just said," Aveline said when Misery didn't continue.

Misery blew out a long breath. She wasn't sure if Aveline was being serious or merely expressing disbelief, but it didn't matter at the moment. "It was… a mistake… what I did back there. All of it. I am sorry."

Aveline nodded. She resisted the urge to henpeck the girl further and settled for acknowledging the apology. "Thank you. I appreciate you not continuing to stubbornly defend the indefensible."

"You alright?" Varric asked as he moved closer.

Thinking his question was sarcasm regarding her actually apologizing for something, Misery began to respond sarcastically herself. Then her eyes met his. That's when she saw the genuine concern, and she faltered.

"I… I don't know…" she softly admitted after a long pause. Her eyes silently pleaded with him not to press her on that until later.

He recognized the look and nodded in understanding. "Don't forget who has your back," he said with a wink.

Merrill bit her bottom lip. Seeing Misery so out of sorts and feeling better herself after the apology, what the elf wanted to do was go hug her. But being unsure of how Misery would react made her hesitant. She had just about worked up the courage to do it anyway when Misery gestured for them all to get moving again.

Merrill sighed in disappointment as she fell in behind the two rogues, reminding herself what Isabela said about needing to be more assertive with her feelings if she expected Misery to catch on. For Merrill that was something easier said than done, as her inaction a moment ago clearly attested. At the same time, it was driving her crazy having these feelings and not knowing how Misery felt. She silently swore not to let the next opportunity go by.

-==0==-

The dilemma of figuring out their next move was solved when a panicked guard came running up to Aveline.

"C-Captain!" he exclaimed. "We-we don't know what to do! Back that way, th-there is this cloud of mist driving people mad!"

"Slow down," Aveline said, gesturing for him to relax. "Where exactly is it and what's been done so far?"

"Down that alley over there," he answered, gesturing back the way he came, "where it opens up into an apartment block. Guardsman Maecon ordered us to barricade the street so no one can get in or out, but… the people inside… "

Varric shook his head. "Looks like Tintop's story checks out. Hopefully this elf didn't make too much of it before figuring out it was gas and not powder."

Misery sighed bitterly, though the bitterness was directed at herself and not Varric for again pointing out her mistake. "Yeah…"

"Come on," Aveline said. "We need to make sure the situation is under control and figure out how we're going to get it cleaned up."

They jogged the short distance to and down the alley until they came to a guardsman addressing a crowd of people in front of a barricade.

"All of you!" he shouted. "I can't fight the damned air! You want to live, stay out!"

The crowd parted to let the guard-captain and her armed companions through.

"Maecon, what's the situation?"

"Guard-Captain! I… it's hard to even describe. Reports of some haze with the stench of rust and… vomit."

Varric shook his head. "In other words, not much different than 'All You Can Eat Stew Night' at The Hanged Man."

Aveline leveled a glare at the dwarf while gesturing for her guardsman to continue.

"There was a greenish cloud… now a lingering mist. Anyone caught in it just went mad, people started fighting and killing each other. After awhile some just retched themselves dead."

"All paths in and out barricaded?" Aveline asked.

"Yes, Captain, though… we can't exactly barricade the air, so…"

"No guarantees it stays contained," Varric finished for him. He looked up at Aveline. "I'm guessing you expect us to play the heroes?"

She frowned. "Sounds like suicide if we try and just charge in there. But we can't leave it to sort itself out either." She nodded at the guard. "Good work, Maecon. Keep your post while we sort this out."

"Yes, Captain."

Aveline looked over at Misery, who was running her fingers through her hair and appeared deep in thought. She was well aware of Misery's attitude towards risking herself on behalf of Kirkwall, and wondered if she was about to bail out in favor of leaving this to the Guard.

"Hawke, I need you," she said bluntly. And it was the harsh truth. There wasn't a single person she felt was more capable to deal with something like this than Misery.

Misery opened her eyes and looked at Aveline. In the span of a few seconds, a multitude of thoughts and feelings were conveyed silently between the two women. The rogue finally nodded in understanding.

"We're going to the Arishok," she said, motioning for the others to follow.

Varric whistled. "You really think he'll help?"

"I don't know. Maybe he'll be willing to send some of his people in, since they're not affected by the gas, maybe not. Regardless, at minimum I want a whole lot more information than we currently have about dealing with it, and that starts with the Arishok."

"Good thinking," Varric said, nodding in approval. Even more importantly, he was glad to see her head back in the game. He had a feeling they were going to need her at her best for this to not end up a complete disaster.

* * *

_AN: Thank you xseikax for your help and reassurance that the chapter wasn't the big steaming pile I'd convinced myself it was :) _

_And thank you again to everyone who has reviewed, alerted, or even just read the story. _


	6. Courtesy or Conspiracy?

"No."

The Arishok's answer came almost immediately in response to Misery's explanation of what had transpired and request for assistance dealing with the saar-qamek outbreak. Though he had selfish reasons for wanting Hawke to succeed, there was no benefit to the Qun in gifting light to one stumbling blind in the dark, just as there was no benefit in simply cleaning up the mess for her. Bas could not understand the victory of the Qun if they could not see the futility of their lives outside of it.

"What?" Aveline asked incredulously. "Even after sending us on a wild goose chase? The poison was released while we were outside the city tracking down the wrong person!"

"You would not have known the origin of the saar-qamek had I not extended Hawke the courtesy. Be grateful I gave her that much."

The guard-captain shook her head. "Why will you not spare even a handful of men? You know the viscount-"

"Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun!" the Arishok shouted. "Nor is explaining myself to _bas_ such as yourself!"

Aveline opened her mouth to protest before snapping it closed and scowling bitterly, resenting that the Arishok continued to be so dismissive of her formal position, yet for whatever reason was willing to parlay with Hawke.

Misery didn't need to know what 'bas' meant to understand it was an insult. The Arishok practically spitting the word out made that perfectly clear. Yet despite the rising tension and the looming specter of the outbreak, Misery was having a difficult time preventing her thoughts from drifting to the apparent favoritism he was displaying towards her. The seemingly unwarranted nature of it made her all the more suspicious of what was going on.

Her eyes closed briefly as she considered how to proceed. She wasn't blind to the difficult position Aveline was in, or how that was spurring her incredulity. And Misery realized that while she had no intention of making a suicidal run into the poison mist, regardless of how hard Aveline pushed, the guard-captain was going to need to deal with it one way or another.

In light of the Arishok showing her a modicum of respect that he wasn't giving the others, Misery felt she owed it to Aveline to use that influence, however slight, to get as much out of him as possible. To that end she opted to phrase her next request in terms of herself.

"Arishok, if not men, is there at least additional information you can provide? Do you have any suggestions that would help me survive the saar-qamek?"

"Do not breathe it."

Misery sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair and fell into thought. She mentally kicked herself for not waiting longer for Fenris to show up at her estate earlier that morning, her impatience causing her to make the group leave without him. Now she regretted not having his knowledge of the Qun and Qunari here, wondering if the Arishok would be any more helpful if he was. At minimum, Fenris seemed to know how to phrase things in a manner the Arishok approved of.

Misery finally sighed again and turned in preparation to leave when a thought triggered by thinking of Fenris came to mind. She looked back towards the Arishok.

"You have Qunari converts from races other than your own. Do you not have a means of protecting them in battle from the effects of saar-qamek? If you think enough of me to have solicited my help in the first place, would you not provide me with that knowledge?"

The slight upward twitch of the Arishok's eyebrows came and went so quickly that Misery almost questioned if she'd really seen that momentary crack in his stoic façade.

The Arishok didn't answer immediately. Instead he continued to cast his heavy gaze upon the female as he evaluated her. He found himself moderately impressed by her sharpness of mind, briefly contemplating if her willingness to search for answers also indicated her openness to finding enlightenment.

He was also impressed by her ability to withstand his intimidating demeanor without faltering. Even among his people, few could maintain eye contact with him or resist displaying apprehension when he raised his voice, or alternatively when he brought a piercing gaze to bear in conjunction with prolonged silence. Hawke did both.

"You speak of the viddathari," he finally answered. He paused another long moment while settling on a decision. "Hawke, I am not wholly convinced you are basalit-an, yet I find myself less disinclined to call you such. Cause me to reverse course at your own peril."

Misery resisted the urge to reply that she had no idea what he just said, choosing instead to nod for him to continue.

"Send away your associates. What I will offer is for you alone."

Aveline interjected immediately. "Why only Hawke?" she asked, her tone mixed of outrage and suspicion. "_I'm_ the one responsible for ensuring that order is restored. If you have information that will help, _I_ should hear it!"

Despite being more than a little curious about the meaning of 'basalit-an', as well as about the situation as a whole, Varric knew Aveline's argument wasn't going over well. Aside from the Arishok's agitated expression, it was obvious that like the previous day, Misery was the only one of them he was interested in speaking to. _Why _remained to be seen, but that clearly wasn't going to be answered right now.

He swatted the guard-captain lightly on the arm. "Come on, let's go. He who owns the information determines the selling price."

"So we should just pay that price without question? Andraste's ass, we don't even know what his intentions are!"

"I don't like it either," Varric answered, "but Misery is a big girl. She can handle herself."

"Aveline…" Misery began, "while you waste time arguing, the saar-qamek continues to be a threat… and is potentially spreading. Go."

Aveline blew out a noisy breath, exasperated at the no win situation she was in. Her first and foremost concern truly was her duty, dealing with the poison outbreak in a way that minimized casualties and restored order as quickly as possible. Yet she couldn't stop the cynical feeling that things were shaping up such that the blame for failure would be laid at her feet, while the credit for success would be given to Hawke. And she was becoming suspicious again that there was more to Hawke's background with the Arishok than had been revealed.

"You're right. If he'll tell you something useful that he won't tell me, so be it. We'll be outside waiting."

While Aveline reluctantly walked away with Varric and Merrill, Revas defiantly laid down at his master's feet.

"Oh?" Misery asked the mabari before shaking her head in amusement at his behavior. She appreciated it, however, and wasn't going to send him with the others unless the Arishok pushed the issue.

The Arishok wasn't concerned about the dog though. Once the human, elf, and dwarf that had accompanied her passed from sight, he turned and spoke in Qunlat at one of the warriors nearby. In response the warrior turned and strode away, his pace suggesting an urgency that otherwise went unrevealed.

"Tell me, Hawke," the Arishok said, "why save a city that is incapable of saving itself?"

"What do you mean?"

"You are known for solving the problems of others, succeeding where your so-called Guard fails. I find it curious that even now, faced with a crisis, the impotence of the Guard leads its commander to defer to you. Yet I am more curious as to why you make these things your concern."

Misery's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How is it you know so much about me?"

"The Qun demands I know."

"What does that mean?" Misery asked incredulously. "What is your interest in me?"

The Arishok considered his response. He understood she wanted answers, but he also understood she wasn't yet ready for _answers_. And he wasn't going to waste his breath when her preoccupation with the saar-qamek was an impediment to understanding. He waved his hand dismissively.

"You have more pressing concerns. Return with these questions… should you survive."

She scowled at the lack of an answer. "I trust you're going to tell me how to do that now?"

"Be silent and wait," he replied, his tone carrying with it a warning. He gestured towards the warrior he'd given an order to, who was now disappearing inside one of the buildings in the compound. "Your answer is being retrieved."

Misery was far from happy with the response, but she did what she was told and remained silent while they waited. For the Arishok's part, though he gave no outward reaction, inwardly he was pleased at her obedience, both just now and before in accepting the initial suggestion to hunt Javaris Tintop.

The reality was, even in a pustule on the face of Thedas like Kirkwall, there were always bas that came to the Qun willingly, for one reason or another. Some sought out the Qun on their own. Others were deemed worthy enough of being guided towards enlightenment and given the opportunity to choose it of their own accord.

While spiritual matters were largely the responsibility of the Ariqun's branch of the Triumvirate that governed Qunari society, as one third of the Triumvirate the Arishok was charged with providing spiritual leadership in addition to commanding the military, even more so while away from Par Vollen. So although the Qun had left the Arishok and his army stranded in Kirkwall for a purpose other than conquering and converting, the Qun also demanded he identify bas of ability or influence for potential conversion. Or, should the winds change, for preemptive elimination. Either way strengthened the Qunari at the expense of their enemies.

It had been a viddathari, an elf who had sought asylum from his past, who brought the name 'Hawke' to him years earlier. Despite his initial skepticism at how highly this 'Tomwise' spoke of the pair of sisters, most notably the one called 'Misery', he indirectly watched their progress through the eyes of his agents, as he did a number of other bas around the city.

Ironically, meeting the Hawkes face to face without knowing it was them was what caused him to truly take notice. Among other things, he found interesting the passing mention of rescuing the disgruntled son of the viscount, whom he had already known to be amenable to the Qun. Between the Hawkes' known close association with the city's guard-captain and garnering the viscount's favor, their sphere of influence appeared to reach beyond that of the average bas, enough to moderately intrigue the Arishok.

However, then they went to the Deep Roads, were effectively gone from Kirkwall, and his attention turned elsewhere. In fact, the Arishok had barely remembered the name 'Hawke' when an agent recently brought it back to his attention.

This situation with the stolen decoy formula arising soon afterwards was mere coincidence, and ordinarily such a matter would be handled from within, per the Qun. The Arishok and his advisors, however, came to the conclusion that the Qun would be better served by using Hawke instead. And should the thief manage to produce saar-qamek in sufficient quantity anyway, well… there was strategic value in observing and evaluating the city's emergency response measures.

The Arishok and Misery turned their heads to watch the approaching Qunari warrior, who handed a strange looking helm to the Arishok before bowing his head reverentially and returning to his post. The Arishok looked over the helm for a moment as if he was contemplating something, but soon returned his attention to the human in front of him.

"As you said, we have viddathari that must be protected from saar-qamek." He tossed the helm to Misery, who caught it awkwardly but managed not to drop it.

"Attached inside is what you would call a mask," he continued. "It is worn over the face, and blocks most of the gas from being breathed in. Unless you are dead, you will return that to me when your task is complete."

Misery raised an eyebrow. "_Most_ of the gas?"

"I warn you, Hawke. It does not provide immunity. It is more accurate to say it slows the absorption of the poison. Instead of having your mind seized in seconds, the effects come on gradually on the order of minutes. The stronger your will, the longer you will retain your mind."

She stared at the helm in her hands. Other than having an elongated nose and mouth area, it was a typical Qunari full-faced iron helm on the outside. The inside, however, housed a stretchy material she'd never seen before. It appeared that it was supposed to pull down and encase the head and neck completely when worn.

"In other words," she replied, "don't linger in the poison longer than necessary. And if I start feeling funny, get out right away."

"Lingering would be unwise. Saar-qamek kills the body as well as the mind. Prolonged exposure is death."

"How exactly do I get rid of the saar-qamek? Or am I faced with subduing anyone still alive and dragging them out of the mist until the wind eventually blows it away?"

"Saar-qamek…" The Arishok paused as he searched for an explanation. "When it is hot, it is a heavy mist that clings to the air. As it cools, it rises and scatters to the skies. For the mist to remain this long, I would expect to find containers of the mixture continuing to produce it."

She nodded in acknowledgment. "That could very well be true if the thief thought they were making gaatlok. If that's the situation, can I do anything to foul the mixture so it will stop producing the poison mist?"

"That knowledge is to remain inside the Qun."

"Alright then…" she grumbled, thinking she'd just have to figure that out later if necessary. "Anything else I should know?"

"Make no mistake. The knowledge I have given belongs to the Qunari, and I am granting it to you alone. Protect it with your life, for that is the price demanded by the Qun if you fail to do so."

Misery forced a smirk in an effort to cover her unease. Given the gravity of the Arishok's words, she couldn't help but suspect there would be a price to be paid later for this knowledge, regardless of her success or failure, and that it was now too late to back out.

"You have my word that I'll keep your secrets. Oh, and I'll try not to inconvenience you by dying before I can return your helm."

"Panahedan, Hawke."

With that the Arishok turned away, leaving Misery to shake her head slightly at the thought of what she'd gotten herself into. Or more cynically, what she'd gotten roped into, as she now suspected that his initial refusal was effectively a ploy to direct her to this very outcome.

The thought came to mind that the Qunari were perhaps much more clever and scheming than commonly given credit for. She'd attempted to manipulate him to gain this information, only to have him turn the table on her. That realization left her with mixed emotions. She was angry with herself for getting trapped, but also found a degree of admiration at how the Arishok pulled it off. And her unease over his potential hidden agenda wasn't going anywhere.

Still, there wasn't much she could do about it at the moment. Collecting herself, she motioned for Revas to follow and left.

-==0==-

Once outside the compound, Varric turned to one of the gate guards. "Hey, the Arishok said something about calling Hawke a 'basalit-an' or whatever. What does that mean?"

The guard stared at the dwarf for a few moments as if he was considering whether or not to answer the question. Varric was just about to suggest maybe he'd gotten the word wrong when the guard finally answered, "It is an honor to be declared basalit-an. It is reserved for bas who have proven worthy of respect."

Varric raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Call it a hunch, but I'm guessing that's not very common."

"No."

Aveline shook her head. "Dare I even ask what a 'bas' is?" The explanation reminded her that the Arishok had called her that in anger.

"A purposeless thing."

"Well, that is not very nice…" Merrill said.

The guard leveled his glare at the elf. "It is the truth for all outside the Qun."

"…or very tolerant," she added before moving a short distance away.

Varric chuckled. "No offense, Daisy, but your people aren't exactly known for their tolerance of others either."

"You… have a point."

-==0==-

"Stop already. You're even making _me _nervous," Varric said sarcastically as Aveline continued to pace impatiently. Only five minutes had elapsed since they were dismissed from the Arishok's presence, but under the circumstances it felt much longer.

The guard-captain glanced over to ensure the Qunari guards were out of earshot before returning her attention to Varric. "This all feels very wrong to me. Don't you find it strange that Hawke is in such good graces with the Arishok seemingly out of nowhere? If she's telling the truth about only having briefly met him once three, four years ago, how does he even know who she is? Let alone the fact that until a couple weeks ago she'd been away from Kirkwall for most of the past two years."

She shook her head and continued, "I just have a hard time swallowing the notion that the Arishok requesting her specifically is mere coincidence. And you know how suspicious Misery is of people in general. Yet she seems to just accept all of this? It doesn't add up."

Varric nodded slowly. "I know, and I don't disagree. But you heard what the Arishok said last time about not having known who Hawke was the previous time they met. And why go through the viscount's office to get her? If he knows that much about her, why not contact her directly? And personally, I don't think Misery is a good enough actress to pull off playing dumb this long without letting something slip. I guess it comes down to this; you either think Misery is lying, you think this is all an incredible set of coincidences, or you think the Arishok has an ulterior motive."

"I can't see it being coincidence," Aveline replied. "And for as much as Misery's behavior troubles me at times, I've never known her to swear to something that wasn't true. So I have to give her the benefit of the doubt on that."

She sighed deeply. "The one thing I _do_ know is that she needs to hurry up in there. We need to-"

She stopped speaking abruptly at the sight of Misery and Revas approaching.

"Let's go," Misery said as she passed by without breaking stride.

The others exchanged glances, uncertain what to make of the rogue's frosty tone or the strange looking helm she was carrying. Still, they moved quickly to catch up.

-==0==-

"Plan?" Varric finally asked when it became apparent Misery was in no rush to tell them what was going on.

"Yes."

He shook his head after silence took hold again. "I wasn't asking if you _had _a plan. What _is _the plan?"

"You want the cynical or the pie in the sky version?"

Varric could sense the anxiety veiled behind her sarcasm, but rather than feed into it he opted for attempting to diminish it with humor. "Mmmm… pie…" he answered in a tone conveying an exaggerated longing. "Pie would be good."

Merrill perked up. "Oh! Can it be honey rhubarb? In my clan, Variel always made the best pies. I miss them."

"Rhubarb…" Aveline said, grinning slightly. "That takes me back."

"Hmmm… I'm sensing a story here," Varric said.

Aveline smirked. "Let's just say it involves one mischievous friend, two rhubarb pies lifted from a neighbor's window sill, and three unpleasant days of the runs from overindulging on said pies."

"You're shitting me," Varric said, pretending to be amazed. "Huh, and here I had you pegged as the annoying kid that tattled on everyone else for doing stuff they weren't supposed to."

The guard-captain shook her head at the bad pun, but grinned anyway. "I wasn't a bad kid, but I was hardly the knightly paragon of virtue my father wished me to be."

Varric winked in response before turning his attention back to his fellow rogue. "Alright, Miz… looks like everyone voted 'pie'. What's the story?"

A thin smile crept its way across Misery's lips, though it was more in appreciation of the effort he made to cheer her up than actually finding the banter funny. While continuing to walk at her brisk pace, she gestured towards the alley ahead of them that led to the poison.

"I stroll in there with my magic helmet, put a lid on a container full of the saar-qamek mixture, then drag any survivors to safety. Easy as… pie. Or maybe it's a piece of cake. Whatever you're partial to, I suppose."

Varric laughed. "Well played! Except, of course, for the part where you implied you were doing this alone. You have to know by now that isn't gonna happen."

Misery didn't reply until they neared the barricade. There she stopped and turned to face the others, smiling sadly. "I know you have my back… but not this time. The Arishok said this helm will keep me safe as long as I'm careful not to spend too much time in the poison. Obviously he only gave me one, which means none of you are coming with me."

"How is _that _supposed to work?" Aveline asked, stepping forward and reaching out to grab the helmet from Misery. "Let me see that."

"No!" Misery exclaimed, batting her hand away and assuming a defensive stance. "You can't. I can't let you."

Seeing the shocked expressions on her companions' faces, she continued in a quieter voice, "I… the Arishok made a point of warning me that the information he gave me about this and the saar-qamek are Qunari secrets… and that my life is forfeit if I reveal them."

Aveline stared back skeptically. "And you agreed to those terms? No offense, but why? What's going on here?"

"I failed to see it coming and got trapped," she admitted while allowing her posture to relax somewhat. "I'm beginning to suspect that his trust in me is just an illusion, that I'm really a pawn in a bigger game. But I'll be damned if I know what the game is. What I do know is… he ensured I'm the only one who can deal with this problem… and that I have little choice at this point but to do just that."

Aveline blew out a long breath mixed of exasperation and resignation. "Fifteen minutes. Assess the situation and report back. Nothing more. You're my only insight into what's going on in there, so I need you to keep me apprised of the status as you go."

She chewed on her bottom lip in consternation before continuing, "I don't like the idea of letting you go in there alone. So I need to know that _you_ are alright. Don't leave me standing helplessly on the sidelines wondering if you're still alive or even still in control of your mind. Understood?"

Misery nodded, resisting the temptation to make a sarcastic remark about Aveline showing she cared. She glanced over at Varric, who shook his head at her.

"Be careful," he said. "Unlike the Arishok, I'm not interested in seeing if you die."

She sighed when Revas followed almost immediately with a whimper. "Will you all stop acting as if I'm going to my death?"

When no one replied she began pulling the helmet on over her head. However, she didn't get it more than halfway before yanking it off and coughing violently.

"What's wrong?" Varric asked.

Misery groaned after getting her coughing under control. "Maker… the inside of this thing smells like the last one to wear it was dead for a week before it was removed. Breathing the saar-qamek might be preferable…"

She was just about to begin a second attempt to put the helmet on when Merrill perked up. "Wait, I have an idea."

The elf removed the thick scarf she wore around her neck and stepped in front of Misery. "Here, you can cover your face and maybe it won't smell so bad. I mean, don't cover your eyes or you won't be able to see, of course, but… sorry, I am babbling."

Merrill took a deep breath and reached around Misery's neck, the action forcing the taller woman to lean forward while Merrill fastened the scarf.

Misery closed her eyes and sighed lightly, assuming the elf's nervousness was also out of worry. That belief was confirmed when Merrill tentatively said, "Y-you have to b-bring it back to me, alright?"

Without consciously realizing she was doing it, Merrill rose up on the tips of her toes while tugging on the scarf, pulling Misery's face closer until their lips made contact.

The rogue's eyes snapped open and she immediately pulled away, placing her fingers over her lips while staring at the other woman in stunned disbelief.

"I-I am sorry!" Merrill exclaimed. "I d-don't know what came over me!"

That was only partially true. She hadn't started out with the intent of kissing Misery and it just sort of happened without consideration as to what she was doing, but it also wouldn't have happened with anyone else.

Misery's mind was racing, which turned out to be a good thing for Merrill, as the combination of shock and confusion over the unexpected kiss left Misery unable to latch on to the tendril of anger at having such an intimate action forced on her. After a few long moments of tense silence, Aveline intervened by stepping in front of Misery.

"You need to go," she said, drawing the rogue's attention. "Fifteen minutes, don't forget."

Misery stared briefly before regaining her focus and nodding. She pulled the scarf up to just below her eyes and worked the helmet down over her head. The Qunari breathing mask fit uncomfortably tight with the added thickness of the scarf, but for Misery it was a welcomed tradeoff for greatly reducing the stench. She snatched the bow from her back and walked away without another word.

"I'm not even going to ask…" Aveline muttered while brushing past the elf on the way to update her guardsmen posted at the barricade.

Varric could tell by the troubled expression that Daisy wanted to be left alone, and despite his curiosity he was willing to oblige. Maybe it would have been more difficult if Misery hadn't appeared so dumbfounded in response to Merrill kissing her, but between that and the more pressing concern of the saar-qamek, it was rather easy for him to focus his thoughts on Misery's safety, and on considering what the Arishok might have in mind with her.

Merrill didn't know what to do. Misery's stunned reaction didn't give her much to go on. There was no angry lashing out, nor a look of disgust or condemnation, yet there was also no indication that it was welcomed or even an acknowledgment of her apology.

Should she leave before Misery returned? No, she discarded that thought quickly. As uncomfortable as she felt at the moment, she wasn't going to abandon Misery in danger unless forcefully told to go away. But should she just pretend like nothing happened unless Misery brought it up? Or should she initiate speaking with Misery privately after this business with the poison gas was done? She feared Misery's rejection, yet even worse was not knowing anything.

While sorting through things in her head, a startling realization hit her. She had daydreamed and fantasized about being with Misery many times over the last couple of years, her imagination practically an obsession. In her mind, kissing Misery was electric, sweet, passionate, tender, and loving all at the same time. But when it actually happened she had felt… nothing… even before Misery pulled away.

Merrill didn't know what to make of that. Was it simply because of her own bad timing under already stressful circumstances, catching both Misery and herself by surprise? Or was she subconsciously unable to take pleasure knowing in that moment the kiss wasn't being reciprocated? Or was it something else?

She sighed, wishing Isabela was here to reassure her that she hadn't completely messed this up. Besides Misery, the Rivaini was the one person outside her clan that she could really talk to about personal things. Depending on the outcome of this job and Misery's reaction afterward, perhaps she would stop by and see Isabela before going home.

-==0==-

"Who was at the door?" Leandra asked, looking up from her book.

Bodahn moved through the living room towards the writing desk in order to make a note before he forgot. "Messere Sebastian wished to speak with your daughter. I advised him that she was out, and that we were unsure of when to expect her return."

Leandra's curiosity was piqued. She knew what Mireille had said about him, and wondered if he was reconsidering his vow of celibacy. "Did he say what it was in regard to?"

The old dwarf shifted uncomfortably, uncertain if he should say.

"If you know, I would hear it," Leandra said in reply to his clear discomfort.

He finally nodded. "Messere Sebastian said he learned who hired the mercenaries that murdered his family, and requested your daughter's… _assistance_ in the matter."

Leandra blew out an exasperated breath, knowing full well what 'assistance' meant. "Thank you," she replied, turning her eyes back to her book.

As Bodahn continued about his business, Leandra closed her eyes and sighed again, thinking that next time she needed to do a much better job of investigating a potential suitor before introducing them to Mireille. And anyone who would use her to kill on their behalf would be instantly disqualified.

-==0==-

_Focus!_

Misery shook her head, silently scolding herself for letting her thoughts drift to Merrill once again. Both times Misery returned with status updates, the elf had made a point of _not _looking at her, which was fine with her because she didn't know what to think, let alone what to say at this point.

But this was not the time for such a distraction. Not when she'd already been forced to flee the heaviest concentration of the saar-qamek fog because she could feel her control slipping. Nor when she'd already killed several armed men not because they were threatening her personally at the time, but because the itch in her head to do so grew more and more insistent until she gave in and scratched it.

The sensation gradually subsided once she escaped the mist, telling her that even if she'd felt in control, the saar-qamek had been influencing her. And escaping hadn't left her unscathed. Her nose and throat burned, and her muscles felt strangely lethargic. She reminded herself of the Arishok's warning, that the helm wouldn't make her immune to the gas, and that she needed to be more careful.

Misery now knelt on a rooftop she'd climbed to, surveying the scene below. Dusk had fallen on Kirkwall, the sun's dying light creating an eerie glow as it refracted through the patches of green gas still hovering the area.

A mostly open rectangular area was framed by multilevel apartments, with a handful of alleys weaving between staggered buildings. In the center stood a deteriorating monument to someone or something long forgotten, surrounded by corroding bird statues that were once majestic but now stood as mocking representatives of the neighborhood's decline into decay. The presence of two barrels here had earlier made Misery briefly wonder if someone originally intended to make a statement by blowing the whole thing sky high – before finding out the hard way that what they had wasn't explosive powder.

Nevertheless, she had managed to put lids on those two barrels between fighting off attackers, and in the thirty minutes since then the fog in that area had thinned considerably. That confirmed for her that the Arishok was correct about the cause of the lingering mist. There were half a dozen barrels in all, with four continuing to actively spew, bathing the air with poison.

She watched with grim fascination as the fighting continued on the streets below her vantage point. Dozens lay dead, the vast majority of those average people who had beaten each other to death with bare hands and feet, or with whatever household objects they could use as weapons. Affirming the age old adage, the ones remaining were the strongest, fittest, and most heavily armed.

Misery guessed from their armor, weapons, and watching them fight that these were mercenaries on hand for whatever had originally been planned rather than residents with the misfortune of getting caught up in the saar-qamek. As such, she was in no particular hurry to jump into the fray and stop them from killing each other. Particularly when her time already spent in the poison had left her at less than her best physically.

As far as she was concerned, better to let them thin their own numbers and then clean up whatever was left. Besides, nightfall would soon be upon them, and its cloak of darkness would give her some needed advantages. Also, she could see a handful of archers gathered around a female elf on a landing at the back corner from her location. She could only assume that elf was the one responsible for this mess. Without knowing her intentions, Misery wanted to avoid making herself a target for those archers if possible.

A scream got Misery's attention, and she turned her head to see an older heavyset woman running from her dwelling towards a pair of mercs going at each other. Misery might have laughed at the ridiculousness of the woman wearing a simple dress and armed with an iron skillet charging two men clad in scale armor and wielding greatswords, except that her instinct to protect was greater than she'd ever give herself credit for.

She quickly readied an arrow and fired from her perch, hitting the merc closest to the woman just as she was winding up to club him from behind. The arrow bore into the bicep of his sword arm, interrupting his attack. The unexpected ranged attack in conjunction with the unexpected blow from skillet gave the other merc the opportunity to run him through.

Misery snatched another arrow from her quiver. However, in her haste she fumbled it with her bad hand. By the time she recovered and got a shot off, the crazed woman lay dead, nearly cleaved in half. Cursing, Misery rained arrows down on the merc, who couldn't initially determine where they were coming from and couldn't get out of the open quickly enough to avoid death.

Misery spied an active barrel of saar-qamek near the doorway the woman had emerged from and realized that the gas was affecting not only those she could see outside, but seeping into the nearby buildings. That realization changed the dynamics of the situation in her mind. Her eyes scanned the impromptu battlefield once more, and seeing that the archers with the elf either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared that she was cutting down their men, she decided to speed up the process of getting the crazed mercs out of the way.

Safe from both the poison and the melee fighters up on the rooftop, she began picking off everyone within her bow's reach. That was, until she ran herself out of arrows with a handful of mercs still remaining. While she still had the advantage should any of them attempt to scale the building to reach her, in their current mental state they were quite willing to continue going after easier to reach targets - each other.

She briefly considered lobbing her small supply of incendiary grenades before coming to the conclusion that it might be a horrific idea. She didn't know if saar-qamek was combustible, but if it was the amount present would result in an epic inferno, and likely a significant amount of Lowtown burned to the ground.

Taking advantage of the mercs' distraction and the encroaching dark, Misery swiftly descended the twenty feet to the ground and took off running. She sealed off another barrel without incident, but while crossing an alley on her way to the next one she was unexpectedly tackled by someone flying into her right side from a doorway.

Acting on instinct, she swung her elbow hard, connecting solidly with the face of her attacker and gaining separation. Without even looking she lashed out again, this time leading with a knife blade that caught her attacker's throat, spraying him and her with blood. She rolled to her feet and turned aggressively, only to stop in her tracks at the panic-filled expression of an unarmed boy who couldn't have been older than twelve grasping his throat and already in the throes of death.

"Maker guide your soul…" Misery whispered as he fell. She didn't carry guilt over killing him. After all, she could hardly have been expected to act differently under the circumstances. Nevertheless, she felt for the boy, knowing he almost certainly attacked her under the influence of the poison.

She channeled that emotion into anger, something made all the easier by the extended amount of time she herself was spending in the mist. Shaking her head, she resumed her mission.

-==0==-

The final chime from the distant Hightown bell tower fading into silence elicited a heavy sigh from the guard-captain.

Varric, sitting with his back against a wall, looked up. "More than an hour," he noted solemnly.

"I know… she should've checked in thirty minutes ago. But I don't know if it's just Misery being Misery, or if something actually happened to her."

Merrill, sitting on the ground against Revas, felt him stiffen in response. She reached over and placed a calming hand on his back.

Varric stood and moved closer to Aveline. "Send in the fodder," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Awhile back you mentioned having certain guardsmen that would be frontline fodder if necessary, such as in a battle. Send a few in to see what's going on, maybe they can get in and out before losing their minds."

Aveline rubbed her face. "Varric… if I thought anyone could get in and out successfully I'd have already gone myself."

"If they don't make it, you're not out anything that matters."

"Their lives aren't disposable. I'd be no better than Jeven if I thought like that. Besides, if Misery _is _still going in there, all it would likely accomplish is to give her more hostiles to deal with."

"Point…" Varric said, sighing in resignation. "So what's your contingency plan?"

"Another hour…" Aveline finally replied. "We'll give it another hour. After that I'll… humiliate myself begging the Arishok to help. Since it's Hawke, maybe he'll at least lend us someone to retrieve her and tell us what's left to do."

Her expression turned from solemn to grim as she stared at the dwarf. "If he still refuses… I'll go in."

"Oh?"

"Don't think it's lost on me that she's in there doing _my _duty."

He nodded. "Funny how that goes… for such an antisocial hardass, she puts hers on the line for others far more than most people realize. And you have to admit that she usually manages to get things done in a way that benefits others just as much, if not more, than herself."

"Yeah… Maker knows she frustrates me like no one else, but no matter how many times I've wanted to put my boot in her ass, she is _always_ there when I need her. And I know that I… can't say the same in return. She deserves better than I've done for her."

Varric didn't reply, but he agreed with her. Not that the problem was limited to her specifically, but rather more generally he felt like Misery was underappreciated. Of course, Misery herself contributed greatly to that problem. Nevertheless, with nothing to do but stand around and wait, he began working on a plan to do something for her that would be a nice, unexpected surprise. It was certainly preferable to dwelling on whether or not she'd even make it back.

-==0==-

_Hawke. Misery Hawke. Daughter of Malcolm and Leandra. Sister of Bethany and Carver. _

_Close barrels… make safe… tell Aveline… go to Arishok…_

Misery's identity and mission were a silent repetitive chant, a safety line of sanity to cling to in the raging storm taking place in her head. She'd spent entirely too long in the saar-qamek and knew it, but had been too close to the end to stop herself from pushing onward. So as was all too typical, she took the physical and mental punishment in stride as a cost of completing her mission.

And punishment it was. The pressure behind and under her eyes created a nauseating level of pain in her head, her nostrils and throat were burned raw, and she could still taste the blood that had leaked from her nose over her lips without being completely absorbed by Merrill's scarf. Her arms and legs felt shaky, feeble, but not in the sense of being tired from overexertion. Instead it was a more general bodily ache and malaise along the lines of a very bad case of influenza.

None of it mattered, however, as she sealed off the final barrel of saar-qamek all the while continuing her silent chant.

"Who are you?" a female voice shouted, entirely too loud for Misery.

The rogue groaned briefly before turning her head to see the elven woman a short distance away on the landing above a staircase. A pair of human archers flanked the woman, all that remained of the army she'd started with.

"She wears _their _armor," one of the men snidely pointed out.

Misery waved her hand dismissively. "Close barrels… make safe…" she muttered.

"Why? Who sent you?" the elf asked.

Misery concentrated on slowing her rapid, shallow breathing. "Guard… Captain…" she finally answered. "S-sent me… Hawke… to stop the poison… Wh-what happened here?"

The elf scowled. "Hawke? Your name is known." She began to pace. "Qunari take my people! My siblings lose their culture, then go to the Qun for purpose! We are losing them twice! So, I get help from _your _people. They say we'll take the Qunari thunder, make some accidents, and make them hated! But this… this is all wrong. These poor people…"

The elf's ranting triggered Misery's memory of what led to this point. As her awareness began to return, so did her anger. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, though behind the helm the effect went unnoticed.

"I have no people," she sneered, misunderstanding that the elf meant humans in general. "So… what now?"

The elf shook her head. "This can still work. They are hidden in the city. They'll enrage the faithful, and make sure the Qunari are blamed!"

Misery didn't know what that meant, but she did know the elf looked crazy and threatening. Her self-preservation instinct overrode any interest in questioning the elf further. She needed to get away.

"You're a fucking idiot. The guard-captain already knows the Qunari are blameless for this, which means the viscount knows. And whoever you're working for obviously set you up to take the fall for this. So I suggest you get the fuck out of here, because I have no problem stepping over your corpse on my way to whoever dragged me into this bullshit."

It took what little strength Misery had left to push back so forcefully, and she prayed they wouldn't notice the weariness in her voice. Or even worse, actually call her bluff. She didn't like her chances against the three of them in her current condition, and with two archers she'd never make it if she tried to turn and run.

The elf scoffed. "Forget it, I'm finished. Consider yourself lucky."

Despite the parting shot, Misery had seen the fear briefly flash across the elf's face. She sighed lightly in relief when the woman motioned for her men to follow and left.

-==0==-

Revas' sudden barking caught everyone by surprise. Merrill, sitting next to him, yelped loudly. Varric and Aveline both jumped to their feet.

Aveline stared into the darkness for a moment before glancing at Varric and Merrill. Seeing they appeared just as unaware, she impatiently asked, "What is it?"

Several tense moments later, a silhouette materialized, and soon afterwards it became clear what the mabari with his keener eyesight was barking about. Misery slowly ambled towards them, staggering as if she was drunk.

Not knowing if Misery was herself left most of them indecisive on what to do. Revas, on the other hand, bolted to her without hesitation. The rogue scratched his head briefly before placing her hand on his back and using him for added support as she walked.

"Misery?" Varric said as she approached.

"It… it's done…" she answered softly.

Aveline moved in front of the rogue and held her by the shoulders, stabilizing her. "What happened? You were gone far longer than you were supposed to be."

"Barrels… sealed. Wait… until airs out… morning… sink 'em in the harbor… or bury… deep…"

When Misery's head drooped forward, Aveline began to pry the Qunari helmet off. It took her a bit of effort to work it from her head, but it finally came loose. Almost as soon as it did, Aveline dropped it at the sight of her friend's eyes.

"Maker's breath…" she whispered hoarsely. She quickly untied the scarf from around her face.

Merrill gasped and put her hand over her mouth, while Varric swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat.

Misery's eyes were extremely bloodshot, to the point it was a wonder she could see at all from them. The sockets were swollen and blackened, while her cheeks were so pale that the veins under the skin displayed prominently. Blood continued to trickle from her nostrils over darkened lips and down her chin and neck.

Varric caught himself. "Daisy, she needs healing. Now."

"N-need to go tell Arishok…" Misery whispered.

Aveline shook her head vehemently. "Not a chance. The only place you're going right now is _home_."

Varric nodded in agreement. "The Arishok can wait until you've recovered."

"No…" Misery protested, but there wasn't much conviction behind it.

After looking around to ensure no one else was close enough to witness her spellcasting, Merrill moved close to Misery. She tentatively reached up and touched her face as she began to softly chant healing magic. The mage winced slightly as she felt Misery trembling, and couldn't help but question if it was a negative reaction to her being so close or if it was simply from her condition. The rogue's eyes being closed didn't help her decide.

"Sorry, you aren't getting your way this time," Varric answered. "You're going to let us take care of you for once."

Misery didn't bother to open her eyes as she acquiesced. "Fine… you win."

Aveline sighed and shook her head. "Only you would see letting friends help you as losing a battle."

Misery didn't answer, but when Merrill was finished she also didn't stop Aveline from grabbing her arm, swinging it over her shoulder, and begin helping her towards Hightown. And under the circumstances, she didn't bother to protest Varric carrying the Qunari helm. She just wanted to go sleep for a week, the world be damned.

* * *

_AN: Sorry this one took longer than usual to post. I've had a lot keeping me busy of late, and being sick most of last week didn't help either. I probably won't be able to get much writing done the next two weeks, but after that I should be able to get back on track._

_ dude41 - I tried to reply to your review, but you have your PMs disabled. Suffice to say that I never find constructive criticism offensive (I appreciate it actually). _

_Thank you again xseikax for your beta help. Even if you don't feel like you're doing much, your feedback and ideas have been very helpful :)_


	7. Common Ground

_AN: Thank you xseikax for the beta help! _

* * *

Entering her daughter's room, Leandra frowned at the sight of the girl sitting in the chair at her desk, head back and mouth agape, accompanied by an uneven rattle of snoring. That her breathing was labored during sleep was nothing new, just something else she had in common with her father. However, it had been much more pronounced since her latest flirtation with death, and it was apparent that even a week and a half later she was still falling asleep at the drop of a hat, often without bothering to get up from wherever she happened to be at the time.

Leandra studied the sleeping girl's appearance. Dark circles were still present around her slightly puffy eyes, though fortunately the swelling had almost subsided and her complexion was nearly back to normal. The improvement was a stark contrast to the rather ghoulish appearance she had when her friends initially dragged her home.

More troubling to Leandra, however, was something evidenced by the barely touched bowl of soup on the desk. Mireille had already been underweight when she arrived home from Antiva not long ago, and not eating well since the poisoning had resulted in even more lost weight. While her figure had always been lithe, she now looked downright malnourished.

Sighing, Leandra reached down and gently shook her daughter's shoulder to rouse her. She frowned again when Mireille's eyes opening was accompanied by a brief grimace, as if the sudden exposure to the light was causing pain.

"Are your eyes still bothering you?"

Misery shrugged tiredly. "They're at least adjusting faster. I have to assume that's a positive. Maybe it would help if I could keep them open longer than a few hours at a time."

"Do you need me to remind you again that not eating is doing nothing to help that?" Leandra asked, gesturing to the bowl on the desk. "Even if swallowing still hurts, you _must_ eat. Your strength will not return otherwise."

"I can't just remain sickly until people stop asking me for help?"

Leandra reached over and took the spoon from the bowl. "Open," she said.

"You seriously intend to feed me like a ba-?"

Her words were cut off when Leandra seized the opportunity to shove the spoon into her mouth. After choking down the thick liquid, she glared at her mother, who was clearly amused and trying not to laugh while dipping out another spoonful.

"Open."

"Mother, I can feed my-"

Leandra jabbed the spoon back into her mouth.

"Alright, already!" Misery exclaimed after swallowing. "You win… I'll eat."

"That's better. Besides, it would not do for you to wither away to nothing when saving Lowtown has netted you four marriage proposals."

"Wh-what?" Misery asked, her eyes growing wide.

Leandra smirked. "Or perhaps that was just my wishful thinking."

Realizing now that her mother was putting her on, Misery returned the smirk. "Well, aren't you in a mood today?"

"It is a good day. The sun is out, my heroic daughter remains the talk of the town, and I am going to visit my brother. That is why I came in here actually, to let you know I am off to see Gamlen. Please do not forget to eat the rest of your soup while I am gone."

Misery rolled her eyes. She didn't feel particularly heroic, and guessed that a certain dwarf had been spreading exaggerated stories again. "Take Revas with you. It's been awhile since he's gotten to harass Uncle."

Leandra shook her head. "He is with your friend Varric."

"Did Varric say what for?"

"No, the way he acted I assumed you already knew and had given him permission. It is the third time this week he has taken Revas out. Should I refuse him if he comes by for Revas again while you are sleeping?"

"No, it's alright. I trust Varric. I'm just curious as to the sudden interest. I'll have to ask him about it." Misery sighed and shook her head. "Give me twenty minutes, I'll get ready and walk you to Uncle's."

Leandra smirked again. "I hardly need an escort. I have made my weekly visit without fail for more than three years now, nearly always unaccompanied."

"Yes, well, it's as good an excuse as any to finally go see the Arishok and return his helm. I'm half surprised he hasn't sent someone to retrieve it by now."

Leandra's expression turned to one of concern. "Are you certain you are up to it? You have not gone further than the viscount's office since being poisoned, and it is much, much further to the Docks and back. At minimum you should wait until Aveline can go with you, just in case you need help."

Left unspoken was Leandra's distrust of the Qunari and her unease with her daughter being alone in their compound.

"I'm sure," Misery answered immediately, bristling inwardly at being coddled.

Leandra suspected she wasn't being told the whole truth, but also recognized the stubborn determination on her daughter's face and knew she'd push herself regardless. Sighing, she nodded in resignation and went to wait downstairs.

-==0==-

Varric nodded in understanding. "Alright, Cor, I'll expect a status update no later than two weeks from today. If it doesn't turn out as expected, we'll move on to Plan B. And just so there's no misunderstanding, I'll remind you one more time to keep this business on the up and up. The client I represent is not one you want to even think of screwing over."

Cor Blimey, leader of the Lowtown gang dubbed 'The Dog Lords', was for good reason better known as 'The Bastard'. The man was ruthless and had a reputation for double-crossing people. However, Varric had done his homework, and by all accounts Cor was the man in Kirkwall best able to deliver what he was after.

Cor scoffed. "Your _client_ will receive exactly what we agreed upon. The rest are mine." He gestured towards Revas. "By the way, I'll raise my offer to twenty for him. Convince your man to sell the dog."

"Twenty, eh? Sounds like you're more than a little impressed with the pup."

"I worked the Royal Kennels in Denerim for seventeen years, until that knife-eared Grey Warden the Queen made her general ran me and a lot of other good men out of there. Our dogs were the best of the best. But I'll concede that this one from Redcliffe would hold his own with ours. In fact, why don't we just complete the sale right now and you can tell your man whatever story you want about what happened to the dog."

Revas growled, causing Varric to laugh. "It doesn't matter how much you offer, Cor. Twenty sovereigns or twenty thousand, I wouldn't get to enjoy any of it even if I turned from here, walked out the city gates, and never looked back. There's nowhere in Thedas that would be safe from my client's wrath."

"Just who is this you're representing?"

Varric shrugged. "Someone who prefers to keep a low profile. If this works out, you'll meet them for the pickup. That's all you need to know until then."

"Fine…" Cor grumbled. "Then our business is done for now. I'll be in touch."

-==0==-

Misery grimaced in response to stepping outside into the sunlight, and immediately pulled the hood of her Dalish cloak over her head to partially shade her eyes. She didn't even consider using the helmet tucked under her arm, wanting no part of wearing that thing ever again. Leandra noticed her daughter's discomfort, but said nothing as they walked towards the Red Lantern district and the stairs to Lowtown.

"Mother?" Misery asked after a few minutes. "How did you know Father was the one?"

Leandra raised an eyebrow curiously. "What prompted that?"

"I suppose all of this talk of courtship and marriage of late has me contemplating such things. Not to mention… there is a loosely related situation that is rather uncomfortable, one I need to deal with sooner rather than later."

"Merrill?"

"H-how did you…?"

Leandra waved her hand. "She comes to check on you nearly every day, yet will not go to your room unless you are sleeping. I pressed her until she finally broke down a few days ago and told me what was wrong. I will admit… It came as a shock, and I had little to say in response. I still do not know what to think. It never occurred to me to even consider this, but… tell me, Mireille, am I barking up the wrong tree attempting to find you a _husband_? Are you-"

"No, Mother," she answered, nipping the line of questioning in the bud. "Merrill is dear to me, but not in _that _way. I am not attracted to women like that. I don't know what gave her the impression I would be… or honestly if that was even her intent. I mean, it's possible that the kiss wasn't anything more than she was just worried and took friendly affection too far. But in hindsight, she _has_ been more touchy feely since I've been back. So I don't know…"

Misery had spent enough time dwelling on Merrill's kiss to move past the initial response to considering alternate explanations. However, she was still undecided on the elf's motivation.

"Judging by her stress level," Leandra answered, "I believe it's more to her than a simple mistake to apologize for."

"I don't know what to say to her then. I suppose I should be flattered, but I want to punch her in the mouth for thinking it was alright to surprise kiss me like she did. But then… at the same time… I sort of feel bad for her, even though that makes no sense to me either."

Misery sighed and continued rambling, "I don't know what to do. I need to make it clear to her that there is no possibility of that kind of relationship, but I also don't want to kill her over it because I truly want to keep her friendship if she'll accept that's all we can be. I'm… I know I'm not exactly the diplomatic type. I'm not good at being gentle or delicate with people's feelings. Probably the only reason I even have friends is because Bethany did that stuff for me. I just don't know how to handle this… how to spare her feelings without leading her on or giving her false hope. I… Mother… I could… I could really use your advice."

Leandra stopped in her tracks and looked upwards, causing Misery to stop as well.

"Mother? What is it?"

"Huh…" she answered, "and here I was certain the sky would begin falling."

"Wow… just wow…" Misery grumbled. "Yes, you certainly _are _in a mood today."

Leandra laughed lightly, her sarcastic expression softening to a warm smile. "I do not believe I can recall the last time you asked me for advice. Thank you, Love."

As they resumed walking, she continued, "However, I do believe you already have your answer. Leave out the part about wanting to punch her, and focus on how much you care for her despite not being able to return that type of affection. In truth, it is far less complicated than you are making it. Merrill is not unreasonable. If you explain that you are not rejecting her personally as if you were choosing one man… or woman as it were… over another, but rather are incapable of those feelings for _any _woman, she will understand."

"I wish I had your confidence of that… or in myself to pull it off."

"Oh, I got the impression from listening to Merrill that more than anything she is afraid you will want nothing to do with her. If you both have the goal of saving your friendship, I am certain you will find the common ground necessary."

Misery nodded slowly after a few long moments contemplating those words. "Thank you, Mother."

Leandra sighed lightly, a mixture of contentment with the greatly improved relationship with her oldest and relief at getting the answer she wanted to the Merrill question. It had taken a lot of willpower over the past few days to be patient and not ask Mireille, to stay the course on keeping her daughter as stress-free as possible and focused on recovering. That didn't stop her from dwelling on it, however, and she'd begun to wonder if Mireille's cooperation on being courted was simply an illusion, a means of pacifying her.

Also, despite genuinely liking Merrill, Leandra still bore the common racial and class prejudices, and strongly disliked the thought of her daughter in a committed romantic relationship with someone of another race. That was a bigger issue to her than it being another woman, though her selfish desire for grandchildren left her less than thrilled with that aspect as well.

While Leandra was thinking things through, another thought came to mind. "Love, I suppose I have been remiss in asking this as well, but what qualities are you looking for in a potential husband?"

Misery frowned slightly, though it was as much a response to the ache in her leg muscles as they descended the long flight of stairs as it was to the question.

"I… I've never given it much thought, to be honest. I guess I assumed I would just know it when I saw it."

"That is not particularly helpful," Leandra replied, laughing. "And quite possibly why you remain unwed. Well, that and your ongoing lack of attention to how you present yourself."

Misery fell into thought for a few minutes while considering the question. Finally she answered, "I want a man that knows what I am and accepts me anyway, that isn't going to be embarrassed or feel the need to make excuses for me to others. Someone secure enough to follow my lead, but also confident enough to stand up to me when that's what I need. I want to be able to trust them so completely that I don't feel this burning need to be in control of everything. I mean, I'm never going to be the demure, submissive type in general, but sometimes it would be nice to be able to defer to my partner knowing I never have to question whether or not he knows what he's doing or has my best interests at heart. I want to be the most important thing in his life. Give me all of that and everything else is negotiable."

Leandra chuckled softly. "You know, so much of that describes Malcolm. I think I chose your father because while I do believe Guillaume would have loved me, to him the marriage was more about the trappings, such as social status. Back then my family name and my beauty made me somewhat of a trophy in that regard. His interest in me never felt _personal_ like it did with Malcolm. While your father was always respectful about it, he was quite assertive in courting me. I could not help but find that appealing."

Misery nodded. "As silly as it may sound coming from me of all people, I want to be pursued like that, to be worth going out on a limb for. And yes, I realize I might as well be asking for the moon, especially when so little about me is endearing."

"You have plenty to offer if you will simply make the effort to demonstrate that. Remember this, Love, just as you judge a man's worthiness of having you, so you are judged. It's not silly wanting to be coveted, but without giving someone reason to, it is naïve to expect to be. Though I will say, if you do manage to find a man with all of those qualities to show interest, do not let him get away, for they are a rare breed."

This wasn't the first, second, or even the tenth time Leandra had encouraged her daughter to make more of an effort in how she presented herself to the world. The topic had been an ongoing source of frustration for both of them over the years. In the past Misery never cared because there was no immediacy to it, it always seemed irrelevant to her life and therefore more trouble than it was worth.

Now, however, Misery was of a mind to be receptive of those words. As they sunk in, her thoughts drifted towards the man that had been there time and time again, and that she had completely taken for granted.

"What if… he was someone you would disapprove of?"

Leandra didn't answer immediately. Just when Misery was sure she wasn't going to, Leandra sighed knowingly. "I can all but hear my mother's laughter whispering on the winds. She would tell me this serves me right for doing the same to her and Father."

She sighed again as they reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped off into Lowtown. "You truly believe this dwarf is the one? You will consider no others?"

"I didn't say that," Misery replied. "And he's shown no inclination to pursue me, so for all I know it's no different in his eyes than how I see Merrill."

Misery now consciously doubted that she'd done anything to make the effort of pursuing her worthwhile. She realized it was likely that how she was viewed by Varric, or really anyone besides Merrill, was no different than her thinking that despite once upon a time finding Anders physically attractive, there's no way she'd have ever bothered putting out the effort to fight through all of his baggage. It just wasn't worth it.

Instead of voicing that, however, she smirked and continued, "I just want to establish whether or not you're going to put your foot down and forbid me from going against your wishes, or disown me if I do so anyway."

Misery gestured to a stone bench nearby. "I need a short rest," she reluctantly added. Leandra nodded and joined her in taking a seat.

"You have done many things in your life that I have disapproved of," Leandra said. "If I were to forbid this now, would you honestly obey?"

Misery bit her bottom lip, looking away. "Yes… I would," she admitted softly. "You should know there's a difference between giving me an opinion and giving me an order. One leaves me a choice in the matter, one does not."

Leandra's breath caught. In her mind the question she'd posed was rhetorical, but the other way around. She was stunned to learn that her word still carried that much weight with her daughter. And she didn't know what to think of never realizing Mireille adhered to such a specific, black and white rule when it came to parental authority. A couple of minutes elapsed while she collected her thoughts and composed herself before exhaling a long breath.

"I cannot say I am prepared to bless such a decision, should it come to that. However… perhaps… perhaps I will… refrain from forbidding it." She forced a slight smile. "But I still disapprove."

Misery nodded slowly. "I understand."

Leandra leaned back. Changing the subject, she waved her hand in a wide sweeping motion. "You know, one of the many nice things about Hightown is not living with this stench on a daily basis. Sometimes I wonder how I got used to it when we lived down here."

Misery grunted noncommittally. She hadn't told anyone, but the saar-qamek destroyed her sense of smell. Not even the extensive healing she'd received from Anders, whom Varric had gone and retrieved immediately after helping get her home, had restored it. Neither had potions. She wondered if it would ever come back. However, it was a lesser concern to her.

Her primary concerns were the diminished endurance and general malaise that were no longer improving. Simply walking to Lowtown had left her much more fatigued and aching than she was revealing, so much so that she wondered how she was possibly get through the afternoon and back home. The earlier thought of going to see Merrill if she finished speaking with the Arishok quickly enough seemed laughable now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of barking getting closer. She looked up to see Revas bounding towards them, with Varric in the distance trailing at a much more casual pace.

-==0==-

Varric raised an eyebrow quizzically as he approached the Hawkes. The Qunari helm on the bench next to Misery told him exactly what her plans were, and while he hadn't talked to her in a few days, to look at her now she didn't seem any more ready to be out and about than she did then.

"I'm surprised to see you out on the town," he said, flashing a grin. "You feeling better than you look?"

Misery shrugged. "It's the day of the week she visits Uncle Gamlen, and I'm escorting her since, you know, _Revas_ was not home to do so. I know you've already noticed, but I decided to get seeing the Arishok over with while I'm already down here."

Varric winced at the implication before turning his eyes to Leandra. "Ahhh… Mama Hawke, I apologize. I wouldn't have borrowed the pup if I knew you needed him. I… should've thought to ask."

Leandra waved her hand to indicate it was no concern, smirking slightly at how the dwarf referred to her. "As I told her, an escort is entirely unnecessary. I have visited my brother every week without fail since we got the estate back, and very rarely has anyone accompanied me."

Varric nodded. His eyes drifted back over to Misery and it took him only a moment longer to realize what seemed off about this entire situation. "Hey, I'm going with you to the Qunari. Wait here for me, I'll be back in about ten minutes, alright?"

A slight smile crept across Misery's lips. She nodded in response, and her smile grew a little wider when he winked before spinning and striding away.

The silent exchange didn't go unnoticed by Leandra, who sighed lightly but didn't comment on it.

"Mother," Misery said, "You can take Revas and go on to Uncle's if you want. I'll see you later at home."

"I will stay with you until he returns. Please though… do not try to do too much this afternoon. You are still recovering."

"I know… I'll be careful."

-==0==-

Misery was leaning over, facing the ground with her eyes closed when she felt a light thump against her leg. She opened her eyes and looked up to see Varric holding out a staff.

"What's that about?"

"I know you, Miz. You didn't stop on your way to your uncle's to sit on a public bench in Lowtown just to relax and enjoy the lovely smog and fragrant air of decay. Anyway, Sunshine used to use her staff as a walking stick at times when she was tired, so, you know… it made me think you could do the same."

Misery blinked in surprise. "You just went and bought that for me?"

He laughed. "What can I say? It's a pretty safe bet you wouldn't want me carrying you."

"You say that like you actually think you could."

"Haven't I been your pack mule enough times for you to realize I pack some power? Besides, have you looked in a mirror lately? At the rate you're going it won't be much longer until your armor weighs more than you."

Misery slowly rose from the bench. "Mother, you put him up to saying something, didn't you?"

"No, Love. I am quite certain he can see for himself how awful you look."

Varric laughed at Misery's pouty expression. "Look at it this way, if we run into a scrap you can just turn sideways and hide behind the staff."

"And you say I'm incorrigible," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Mother already made it clear that eating isn't optional, so consider that point made. I promise I'll force myself, even though nothing tastes good or goes down easily. I also promise that if you try to shove a spoon down my throat like she did, I'll gut you."

Despite the harsh words, a grin played across her lips, letting him know she was _mostly_ joking.

He shook his head. "I'm pretty sure only Mama Hawke could pull off something like that and come out of it unscathed."

Leandra smiled at the dwarf. She might not approve of him as a mate for her daughter, but that didn't prevent her from appreciating him as a reliable friend to her.

"Since my daughter has forgotten her manners, allow me to say thank you on her behalf for the walking stick. It was very thoughtful. Can I trust you were not serious about finding trouble? She has no business exerting herself to that extent, and I would appreciate it if you kept her from doing so."

"Mother, please…" Misery complained. "I don't need a babysitter."

Leandra glanced at her for a moment before turning back to the dwarf. "You have my permission to remind her, as much as necessary, to refrain from _working_."

Misery rolled her eyes again and began walking away. "Come on, Papa, I mean Varric. Before I decide to be spiteful and go see if Sebastian is ready to do a job he wants my help with."

Varric raised an eyebrow, though it wasn't in response to her sarcasm. "Ummm, Miz?"

When she glanced back he gestured towards the bench. Misery's eyes followed and a frown formed at the sight of the Qunari helm she'd started to leave behind. The frown gradually turned into a scowl as she became angry with herself over what could have been a very costly mistake.

"Thank you," she grumbled while retrieving the helm.

"Hey, nothing to it. Having your back is what I do, right?"

Misery's scowl faded as she nodded. "Yeah…"

"Speaking of having your back," he continued, "I already took care of Prince Choirboy's job for you, so the only thing you need to do is remember to thank Fenris, Rivaini, and Daisy next time you see them."

"What? When? How did you even know about it?"

Leandra, who had begun to walk towards Gamlen's with Revas in tow, stopped to listen. This was news to her as well – pleasant news.

Varric shrugged. "A few days after the saar-qamek stuff, he showed up to talk to you at the same time Daisy and I were leaving your place. I ran interference, told him you were unavailable, kept you from being bothered having to deal with his problem. Anyway, if you're ready to go, I'll fill you in on the details while we walk."

Misery stared at him for a moment as she tried to determine his motivation, but soon nodded and left with him.

He wasn't going to tell her the whole truth though. That would involve admitting that with still being in the dark at the time about the extent of her relationship with Sebastian, jealousy as much as protectiveness had led him to stonewall the choirboy's attempt to gain access to her. He'd hardly been able to suppress his giddiness upon learning the real score from Sebastian later while on the job. Although, afterwards his mood was tempered by the realization that Leandra actively pushing along Misery's love life meant time was running out on him.

Varric was feeling the urgency to talk to her. Yet his misguided dilemma was finding the right time, mistakenly thinking such a thing as timing made a whole lot of difference. It was merely rationalization, giving power to the insecurity within, though like most in his situation he didn't recognize it as such.

For Leandra's part, she contemplated what she'd just observed as she resumed walking towards Gamlen's. She'd paid close attention not only to what was said, but to the non-verbal communication passing between those two. And she reluctantly conceded both that Varric genuinely looked out for Mireille and that she responded well to it.

She still loathed the thought of her daughter choosing a dwarf as her mate, and she _wanted _to forbid it. However, guilt was holding her back. Even more than knowing that preventing her daughter from entering a union unbecoming of her station was the height of hypocrisy, knowing that Mireille would actually submit to her authority on the matter made Leandra even more hesitant to impose her will to that degree.

Until fairly recently she wouldn't have thought twice about imposing her will, at least if she'd actually known the trick to doing so was as simple as phrasing her wishes in the form of commands. However, Mireille's prolonged absences on the heels of losing Bethany to the Grey Wardens had left Leandra with many, many days and nights alone to dwell on the past. And the less likely it seemed Mireille was ever coming home, the more Leandra's feelings regarding her oldest turned to regret. She swore to herself to be a better mother if she got another chance, and had been working hard to do just that since Mireille's return.

Leandra would go so far as to say their relationship was currently better than it had ever been. That was knowledge she found contentment in. So while she now knew she _could_ extract obedience if she wanted, she harbored no delusions that Mireille wouldn't resent her tremendously for it, and that was a price higher than she was willing to pay.

Leandra also remembered all the time she'd spent believing that her own mother hated her for running away with Malcolm, that she'd carried that hatred to her death. Leandra came to the realization that regardless of her own opinions, now that she'd clearly voiced her disapproval, she needed to let go. She ultimately needed to allow Mireille to decide this for herself.

That didn't mean she wouldn't continue attempting to match Mireille with a more suitable mate. But Leandra resolved to ensure that if for some reason Mireille did end up with the dwarf, Mireille would know without a doubt that her mother didn't love her any less for it.

-==0==-

Aveline sighed lightly, looking up from the report she was reading to observe the lively chatter taking place in front of the assignment board a short distance outside her door. She loved her job, but there were times like this when she missed the camaraderie of just being one of the troops.

Her eyes settled on one of the men, Donnic, who she'd taken a liking to over the past couple of years. Almost as if sensing she was watching, he glanced over in her direction. Aveline immediately averted her gaze back to her report, wincing inwardly because she was nearly positive she'd blushed.

She was still directing an unfocused gaze on the top page when a brief rapping of knuckles on the doorframe to her office got her attention.

"Captain?" Donnic asked. "Are we making too much noise?"

She smiled. "No, it's fine. Carry on."

"Very good," he replied, nodding before returning to the others.

Aveline sighed again. It had taken her a long time to come to the conclusion that she was ready to move on from Wesley, but now that she had she couldn't figure out what to do. The Guard was her life and even in her off-duty hours there were very few people she associated with that weren't part of the Guard.

However, her position made the proposition of becoming romantically involved with one of her guardsmen precarious at best. Expressing that kind of interest in one of them could get her dismissed for harassment if they felt uncomfortable enough to take a complaint to the seneschal.

She also understood that some people would see a relationship between the guard-captain and a direct report as a conflict of interests, but she trusted herself not to play favorites, and felt she was a good enough judge of character to ensure that a man worthy of her wouldn't expect it or try to take advantage of their relationship for his own gain.

Laughter from out in the hall drew her attention for a brief moment before she caught herself smiling at Donnic again and turned away. The thought came to mind that this would be so much easier if he'd just give some indication as to his own interest in a relationship.

That thought set the wheels into motion in Aveline's head. Getting Donnic to show his hand first was the way to go with it, but how to do it?

Realizing she was getting nowhere on her report, she stood and grabbed her sword and shield. Perhaps she would pay Leandra a visit and see what she thought.

-==0==-

"He's wrong, you know," Varric said quietly, breaking the tense silence that had clung to the air since departing the Qunari compound.

"About?"

"The likelihood of the damage you suffered being permanent. He doesn't know that, or know how strong you-"

"Don't," Misery stated sharply, cutting him off.

"Don't what?"

"Pretend you know anything more about it than the Arishok does. You don't."

"Hey, I'm just trying to-"

"I _know_ what you're trying to do," she said, interrupting him again. "Stop."

Varric sighed and fell silent while they continued to walk. He sincerely believed the situation was far from hopeless yet, even with the Arishok's pessimistic outlook. Just because the Qunari didn't have any answers didn't mean no one else did either.

At least that's what Varric told himself. He hoped he wasn't just in denial after finding out at the same time as the Arishok that Misery's health had stopped improving and that she was perhaps even worse off than she'd been letting on. It irritated him that she was still falling into that same old pattern of behavior, suffering in silence.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Misery said a few minutes later, shaking Varric from his thoughts. "I do appreciate that you want to help. But please… don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

Misery shook her head. "I'm keenly aware of my frailty. I don't need to see your face reflecting that back at me like a mirror. Stop pitying me."

"Is it really so wrong for me to worry about you? To wish there was something I could do to help?"

"If you want to help, don't try to fill my head with false hope thinking it's going to cheer me up. You should know me well enough to know all that will accomplish is pissing me off. Don't try to coddle me thinking you are a better judge of my limitations than I am. It's not doing me any favors. Let me push my limits, and be there when I can go no further."

Varric chuckled sarcastically. "We've known each other what, four plus years now?"

"Your point?"

"The next time you actually tell me you're at your limit instead of leaving me guessing will be your first. Andraste's ass, Misery, after all this time you're still not honest with me when it comes to being hurt and needing help. Are you even honest with yourself?"

When Misery still hadn't answered after nearly half a minute had elapsed, he asked, "So are you telling me it was a mistake on my part to get you that staff?"

Misery unconsciously tightened her grip around the smooth walnut. In a soft tone she replied, "No, it wasn't. I appreciated it."

"Well, was it a mistake to get rid of Prince Choirboy's problem without bothering you with it?"

"No…" she admitted.

"Help me out here, then. You say you don't want me trying to make things easier on you, but then you're implying that you don't mind, and maybe even like it just a little. See my problem? How am I supposed to know what to do? You're being completely contradictory."

Misery frowned. She knew he was right, and what made it worse was that she didn't even know how to explain it coherently. Finally she sighed in exasperation. "I'm a woman. It's my Maker-given right to be contradictory."

Varric's jaw dropped. "You gotta be kidding me. Tell me you didn't just play that card."

"You're supposed to just know, alright?" The frustration in her voice was clear. "And no, it doesn't have to make sense."

Varric held up his hands in front of his face, intently studying an imaginary hand of cards before shaking his head. "You got me. I have nothing to trump that sort of logic." He motioned as if tossing the non-existent cards on to an equally non-existent table.

Silence took hold until they eventually reached the stairs to Hightown. Misery stopped, leaning more heavily on her walking stick while looking up the long flight with slight trepidation.

Even without her giving voice to it, Varric could see that she doubted herself. He was just about to suggest they take a rest when she turned away.

"At my limit…" she mumbled. "I'm going to go sit down and listen to the news." She gestured in the direction of the nearest crier's gathering spot.

Varric opted not to reply as he fell in stride with her. However, he didn't bother suppressing the grin that formed from the knowledge that despite having been argumentative about it, Misery had recognized his point and was making an effort.

-==0==-

"Congratulations," Varric said to Misery as the crier moved on to his next topic. "Good to see your work didn't go unrecognized."

The remark came in response to the crier's recitation of a formal proclamation from the Office of the Viscount that praised Misery Hawke for her heroic actions during the Lowtown poison gas crisis.

Misery scoffed, not bothering to redirect her eyes from the ground in front of her. "The decree is bullshit. What Dumar had to say to me in private was quite different."

"Oh? When was that?"

"Couple days ago Aveline took me to his office for a debriefing of sorts. He carried on about the district being a total loss and enemies in the shadows trying to push the city into a war with the Qunari. Bran was rather pointed in his displeasure that I let the elf go without getting as much as a name, let alone any details about the people behind her. Even though Aveline vouched for me, I get the feeling they're still rather suspicious of my involvement with the Arishok. Uneasy with it at minimum."

"Bran is a pompous blowhard who has his head stuck too far up Dumar's ass to see what's going on outside the keep. Don't take anything he says to heart. The word on the streets is that you're a hero, and _that _is the truth of the matter."

"The truth? Or merely the stories you are spreading?"

"I'm not going to apologize for it, you deserve the credit. You're the one that risked everything to save that district, and still paying for it."

Misery scowled. "I didn't save a damned thing and you know it!" she hissed. "It was already a bloodbath when I went in there, and when all was said and done _no one _survived! Many died by my hands, even a child, and many more died because I was unable to do anything to stop it! The 'truth' is I accomplished _nothing_, and that I very possibly ruined myself for that nothing."

She rose to her feet when Varric didn't seem inclined to say anything in reply. "I'm going home."

Varric reached out and grabbed her arm to prevent her from walking away. "No, not yet. You're coming with me first. I need to show you something."

"Another time. I'm tired and achy and just want to go home and crawl into bed."

"Objection noted and overruled. You're going to have to fight through it awhile longer. Come on."

Misery pulled her arm free. "What makes you think you can just order me around?"

"The fact that you trust me, and that you know I wouldn't push if I didn't think it was the right thing to do."

"Ugh… such a cheap tactic."

Varric smirked in amusement. "Not any cheaper than you invoking the right of femininity. Oh, and I promised Mama Hawke I wouldn't let you overdo it today, so you also know that I think you're up to it."

"What's so damned important that it can't wait?" she asked, sighing in resignation that she was going to give in.

"You'll see when we get there. Come on."

"Fine…" she grumbled, motioning for him to lead the way.

-==0==-

It didn't take long before Misery got a sneaking suspicion as to where Varric was leading her. And she did _not _want to go there. She held her tongue until she knew for sure, but once they turned up the alley that would take them into the area devastated by the saar-qamek, she stopped in her tracks.

"No…" she said.

"Yes… come on."

"I mean it, Varric. I'm not going in there."

"_Trust_, remember? I'm telling you that you need to see this."

Misery tapped her foot in irritation. "You realize you're spending an awful lot of the capital you've built up with me, right? That you're right on the edge of pushing me too far? Is this really worth it to you?"

"Misery…" he began, sighing lightly. "I can tell you why you're full of shit about not being a hero until I'm blue in the face, but it's a waste of time because you don't want to listen right now. So I'm going to _show _you the truth you are refusing to accept."

When she only returned a skeptical stare in response, he quietly added, "I believe in you. What more do you need from me to return the favor?"

Misery opened her mouth to protest the accusation, but the words died before they reached her mouth, overtaken by another thought.

_Make the effort…_

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath through her nose, breathing it back out slowly before letting the final bit rush out in exasperation at the whistling noise her nose made. "Nothing…" she admitted. "I'm a pain in the ass, I know that… I'll try to stop being so… difficult."

Without prompting this time she resumed walking towards their destination, while Varric took the hint that she didn't really want confirmation of her self-assessment or to belabor the point.

-==0==-

Misery remained silent as she and Varric strolled around the square that had been the epicenter of the saar-qamek outbreak, stopping occasionally when the memories became too vivid. The most intense memory came when they approached the old monument in the center of the square.

One moment she saw the monument as it currently stood, appearing not quite so dilapidated. The metal structure and its surrounding statues had obviously been given a lot of scrubbing and freshly polished. She saw the baskets of flowers, wreaths, and bouquets arranged around the monument as a memorial to the fallen.

In the next moment those images were replaced with the sight of the monument tarnished, shrouded eerily in that hazy green glow from the poison mist spewing out of a couple barrels. She saw the shallow streams of blood running from one lifeless body to the next, macabre tributaries running together and dammed by other bodies into ponds. The cacophony of conflict from those still struggling for survival rang in her ears.

And just like that, those images were gone again.

Lingering in their wake, however, was the uncomfortable feeling that her efforts were ultimately meaningless. Had the end result of closing the barrels been fundamentally different than if they'd been left to burn out on their own? Her injuries notwithstanding, in hindsight she didn't believe so.

Misery's flashbacks continued as they walked the quiet streets. It was early evening, with just a sliver of sky left before the sun kissed the horizon, a time of day when there should be a bustle of activity. The absence of life beyond a few guardsmen milling about was doing nothing to change her mind.

"I'm wearing down…" she said as they turned down another side street. "Is there something specific I'm supposed to see?"

Varric looked around and sighed. "Yeah… maybe I'll just ask the guards. Let's go talk to them."

"You go on ahead. I'm going to sit down for a few."

"Fair enough, back in a bit."

-==0==-

Misery was still waiting on Varric ten minutes later when something caught her ear. She perked up, swearing she'd heard her name. She strained to listen, and just when she'd decided it was her imagination, she heard it again amid an otherwise unintelligible fit of a child's shouting and laughter. Her curiosity was easily enough to overcome her weariness as she moved towards the source of the noise.

The rogue quietly made her way a short distance down a side street before taking another turn into an alley just in time to nearly be bowled over by a young girl who was playing boisterously. The girl fell from the collision, her eyes growing wide at the unexpected armed visitor.

"S-sorry!" the girl exclaimed, scooting backwards away from the person towering over her. She clutched the two dolls she'd been playing with to her chest while pushing her long brunette hair from her face.

Misery guessed that the wispy girl was seven or eight. "It's alright," she said, chuckling softly while gesturing for her to relax. "I didn't mean to run into you either. I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me." Misery propped her staff against the wall and removed the hood of her cloak so the girl could better see her non-threatening expression.

A wide grin formed on the girl's face. "Deal!" she exclaimed as she hopped to her feet. "I 'aven't seen ya before. What's yer name?"

"Misery… and you are?"

The girl stared back curiously for a moment. "Misery? That's a weird name. I'm Sabrina."

Misery chuckled again. She liked the girl's precociousness. "I live in another part of the city actually. I'm just here with a friend who is busy talking to some guardsmen. What were you playing back here?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed excitedly, holding up one of the dolls for Misery to see. "My poppets! Do you wanna play? This is Penelope. Grammae made 'er when I was little." Sabrina pulled that doll back and held out the other one, beaming proudly. "And this is Hawke! I made 'er myself! Well… I mean… Mum sewed 'er up an all, but I gathered the cloth and straw."

The smirk Misery wore from Sabrina's implication of no longer being little despite her obvious youth was wiped clean by the last revelation. "H-hawke?" she asked, staring in disbelief at the cloth doll with a little wooden sword sewed into one hand and what was probably supposed to be a shield on the other. The doll was simple, rather crude even, but clearly cherished.

Sabrina nodded vigorously. "She's super strong and pertects us from the bad men! My brother Syd says 'e 'eard the real Hawke killed a thousan' of 'em all by 'erself to take away their scary poison. 'e says she kin jump from 'ere to the roof up there, outrun a fox, and kill someone just by lookin' at 'em."

_I can only imagine where he heard something that ridiculous_, Misery thought before smiling gently. "That's a very nice doll, err… poppet, Sabrina. Just… be careful how much faith you put in… Hawke. You might find out she doesn't live up to your expectations. She… can't really manage all of that, even on her best day."

"You dunno nuthin'!" Sabrina exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. "Hawke kin do _anything_! When I get bigger I'm gonna go find 'er and learn 'ow to pertect people too!"

Misery bit her bottom lip. "Have you met her before? What I mean to say is, why do you believe she's so great?"

Sabrina shook her head. "When the scary green smoke turnin' everyone crazy was gettin' closer, Mum made us 'ide upstairs and cover our faces. We was scared. But… but then it stopped. Later a guard man knocked and said we was safe, that Hawke came when she 'eard about the bad men's poison and saved us from it. I… I wish Hawke could've come sooner… my best friend's mum and pa died… but I 'spose she couldn't. Mum says Kirkwall is too big for even Hawke to 'elp everyone by 'erself. That's why I'm gonna be like 'er too. Oh, and I'm gonna be viscountess too and make rules so everyone kin 'ave a place to live and food to eat."

Misery bit down harder on her lip, fighting the mixed emotions the girl was unknowingly stirring in her. She didn't really know what to say, but she knew she didn't want to tear down the idealistic hope for a better life that Sabrina had pinned to her.

"Misery?" Sabrina asked. "Are you-"

Her question was interrupted by her mother whistling for her. "Dinner time!" the woman called as she poked her head out of an open doorway a short distance away. The woman's expression quickly changed at the sight of the unknown armed woman near her daughter and she quickly moved to intervene.

"What do you want?" the woman asked suspiciously while positioning herself in front of Sabrina.

"Mum!" Sabrina complained, pushing her way back in front. "This is my new friend Misery. We was just talkin'!"

The woman's expression remained skeptical as she took in the appearance of the rogue. "You one of them mercs? We've 'ad enough trouble from yer kind lately."

Misery took a deep breath to calm her nerves before shaking her head. "No, not like you're thinking. You could say I'm a… _freelancer_ of sorts. At least I was… I'm not in the condition to do much of anything right now. Regardless, I mean no harm. I heard Sabrina playing and-"

"There you are!" Varric exclaimed from behind her, huffing as he approached. "Dammit, Hawke! What were you thinking just walking off like that? Are you _trying _to get me in trouble with your mother?"

Sabrina and her mother gasped simultaneously. "Misery?" Sabrina asked, staring wide-eyed.

Misery smirked slightly. "Yes… Misery Hawke. The indignant dwarf here is my friend Varric."

Sabrina lunged forward and hugged Misery tightly. "Why didn't you say yer Hawke?"

Misery closed her eyes briefly before extracting herself from the girl and kneeling in front of her. "Sabrina…" she said softly, "Remember what I said about Hawke not living up to your expectations? I can't do all those great things. Your Hawke is a much better hero than I am. I didn't want to take that away from you."

"But… but you really saved us, right?"

Varric spoke up when Misery hesitated to answer. "_Yes_, she did. Hawke, this is what I brought you to see. According to Guardsman Maecon, there are a couple dozen families down here that are probably only alive because of you. Regardless of what those idiots in the Viscount's Keep think, you made a difference."

"I'm sorry…" Misery replied. "When Dumar told me it'd been a total loss, I took it at face value."

She turned her attention back to Sabrina. "I'm still very sick from the bad men's poison and don't know how things are going to turn out. But meeting you has made me feel a little bit better. I am… happy for that."

"Thank you fer what you did," Sabrina's mother said as Misery rose to her feet. "We 'ave nothing to repay you with, but thank you. Sorry 'bout thinkin' you were one of them mercs."

Misery waved her hand to indicate neither payment nor the mistaken identity was of concern. "You were concerned for your daughter. I respect that. Take good care of Sabrina, she's a good kid."

She turned to leave when Sabrina grabbed her wrist.

"Misery?" Sabrina began while holding the Hawke doll in her outstretched hand. "Ummm… 'ere."

"You are giving her to me?"

"Hawke kin do anything, remember? She'll 'elp you get strong again. Promise me you'll take good care of 'er even once yer better, 'kay?"

Misery blinked back the tears that were forming, understanding the significance of this. Not only was Sabrina giving up what was probably one of her few possessions, but one that was well loved.

"This is a wonderful gift…" she whispered hoarsely while hugging the girl again. "I promise not to let anything happen to her. Thank you so much."

Sabrina's smile grew even wider. "Get strong again so you kin teach me everything about pertectin' people."

"Come along now, Sabrina," her mother said. "Dinner is getting cold and we've taken enough of Hawke's time." She nodded at Misery. "Thank you again."

Sabrina waved and ran ahead of her mother towards the apartment shouting, "I can't wait to tell Syd I'm friends with Hawke! He'll be so jealous!"

-==0==-

Walking back through the square, Misery exhaled unsteadily and held the doll out for Varric to see. "This is Hawke. Sabrina had no idea who she was actually talking to until you showed up, but she was so proud telling me how she and her mother made the doll… she practically worshipped Hawke, because Hawke could do all kinds of superhuman things to protect people…"

Varric whistled. "The kid's a genius. I can't believe I never thought of marketing you as a line of toys. Think of the possibilities! You go around doing heroic shit, and I sell Hawke poppets to your adoring fans. Accessories sold separately. We'll rake in a fortune!"

"Did you really have to cheapen it like that? Really?" She put the doll in her pack, shaking her head in frustration.

"Sorry… I didn't mean… I just… nevermind, it was just a dumb thing to say. No excuses."

Misery stopped and turned to face the dwarf. "No… _I_ am sorry… _again_… I… I don't know why you put up with me." She shook her head. "You've been amazing today, and I've been miserable in return. And it's pissing me off that I realize that and can't even stop myself."

She sat on the ground and rested her head in her hand. "I'm tapped out…" she admitted without looking up. "Look… if I'm keeping you from something and you want to take off, it's fine."

"I'm right where I want to be, Miz."

Misery looked up to see Varric smiling, and it gave her a warm feeling. A jumble of words and phrases to respond with flew through her mind, but the right ones remained elusive. She finally settled for returning the smile with a heartfelt one of her own and nodding.

A few minutes later Varric cleared his throat. "Hey, I know you already know this, but with the sun just about gone we really should get to a more populated area. I was teasing earlier about carrying you, but I'll do it if you need me to."

He didn't need to elaborate further for Misery to get the point. They'd be easy pickings for bandits or gang members that might come along. An audible groan escaped her lips as she dragged herself to her feet.

"I can go awhile longer. I'm just not sure that by the time we reach the stairs I'll be able to climb them."

Varric rubbed his chin in thought as they resumed walking. "How about this… we're not far from the alienage. I can drop you off at Daisy's, then when I get back to The Hanged Man I can send a runner up to the estate to make sure your mother knows you're alright. And I know you and Daisy need to… talk."

"Yeah… but that could be a problem. You've seen what I've been like today. If it goes poorly and she throws me out, I'm screwed."

"Well, for what it's worth, I've already dropped hints to her here and there that you see her more like a kid sister. So I think she's already prepared not to hear what she wants to hear. Just go easy on her, it'll be fine."

Misery flashed a slightly annoyed, quizzical stare. "And just how would you know how I see her? Maybe I'm going to go profess my undying love."

Varric laughed. "You're still a lousy bluffer. Besides the fact you wouldn't be worried about her throwing you out if that was your plan, I've been around the two of you far too long not to see that you treat her more or less the same way you did Sunshine. Unless, of course, you're telling me that you and Sunshine were a little… ahem, _closer _than sisters should be."

Misery shuddered involuntarily. "Ugh! Seriously, don't even joke about that. Dis-gust-ing!"

He held up his hands in surrender while still laughing. "Alright, alright, message received. If you really don't want to see Daisy right now though, you know you're welcome at my place. It's further to walk, but obviously not as far as Hightown."

"No…" she finally answered after thinking about it. "You're right. Merrill and I need to talk, and it's only a short distance from here." She paused before adding, "Thank you, I wouldn't have thought of it. You've been a step ahead of me all day, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate you for it."

"Even when I've had to drag you kicking and screaming into things?" he asked, smirking.

Misery didn't answer until a couple of minutes later, after they'd reached the main road in Lowtown.

"You're a better person than me to even bother. I can tell you that _I _wouldn't put up with me if I was in your boots. However, I'm trying to learn to stop… to stop taking you for granted… to be more worthy of the effort you put into me." She flashed a smile at him before returning her attention ahead.

Varric blinked in surprise, caught off guard by her impromptu confession. He exhaled a long breath and replied, "See… this is why I bother. Because when you let your guard down and stop being Misery, you're a pretty damned amazing woman. And when you're like this I'm a greedy bastard. I can't get enough of you."

Misery gulped, beginning to feel a tingling sensation that was distracting her from her aches. "V-varric… I…"

He stopped and grabbed her arm to turn her towards him. "Miz, I know things are rather… complicated for you right now. And I'm going to keep doing everything I can to help you through it. Just know that you're the most important person in my life." He took another deep breath before continuing, "You're my best friend… but I… I want more… if you're willing."

Misery was having difficulty fully processing what was happening and didn't answer immediately, continuing to stare wide-eyed.

"Ummm…" Varric began, "this is kinda awkward. You've sprung a leak on me, but in case you didn't know, this is the part where you're supposed to say something."

Misery exhaled a ragged breath. "This is not unwelcome, I swear that… but…"

"But?" he asked when she didn't continue.

"I-I have to… to sort out some things… I n-need you to give me a little time." _Mother…_ She wanted to speak with her mother about the subject again before going against her wishes, especially since it had now become more than just a hypothetical.

He sighed but nodded. "I can do that. It took me longer than I care to admit to even talk to you anyway. And hey, if it can't work out… I'm still not going anywhere. So no worries, alright?"

She leaned forward and hugged him briefly, whispering, "Thank you…"

After resuming the walk to the alienage, she thought that for as miserable as she'd felt and still felt, this had possibly been one of the best days of her life.


	8. Searching for Resolution

_AN: So… this is the part where I apologize for the excessive length of time since my last update. I have a laundry list of excuses (most of them even legitimate), and making things worse was this chapter resisting me every word, sentence, and paragraph of the way. There's nothing particularly special about this chapter to make anyone think it would have been more difficult to write than any other chapter, but too many writing sessions yielded too few words, or even worse resulted in the deletion of entire scenes/sections I'd previously grinded out. Even still, if I'm being honest… the longer I was away from the story, the easier it was to not work on it, particularly given the struggle to produce words. _

_Anyway, I hate abandoned stories as much as anyone, so I have no intention of dropping this one before it's done. Most of the progress on this chapter came in the last couple weeks, which hopefully is a good sign that my energy and inspiration is returning. I'm going to do my best to get back to my regular every 2-3 weeks update schedule._

_For those who have reached out to me along the way (you know who you are), offering encouragement and good natured prodding when I needed it, thank you. I appreciate the care and concern :-)_

. . . . . . .

Merrill winced briefly at the sound of the metal latch clicking into place as she closed the door behind Varric. It seemed much louder than it should have been. Or perhaps it merely drew the elf's attention to the fact she was now alone with Misery. Even though Varric had explained the reason for the unplanned, unexpected visit, Merrill wondered if mere rest was all Misery was here for. She doubted it.

She couldn't gauge Misery's mood though. On the one hand, the rogue wore a slight smile that seemed indicative of a good mood. On the other hand, she hadn't spoken more than the few words of greeting in the twenty minutes she'd been here, and her expression and body language suggested her mind was elsewhere.

The uncertainty left Merrill uncomfortable, more so because her anxiety over Misery's potential reaction had reached an almost irrational level. She knew Misery wasn't one to pull punches on expressing her displeasure, and she had a good idea that Misery wasn't happy with her. At this point she feared the worst.

However, despite much soul searching, Merrill wasn't even sure of her own feelings anymore, and didn't know what to say to Misery. Hence the reason she'd been stuck in this conundrum of being concerned enough for her friend's health to make the trip to the Hightown estate almost daily, while also avoiding as much as possible actually speaking with her.

The elf took and released a deep breath before turning around. To her immediate surprise, Misery wasn't there. Merrill tentatively moved through the front room and peeked around the corner into the next room. There she saw Misery standing in front of the still non-functional eluvian. The scene reminded Merrill of Misery's yet unfulfilled promise to go speak with Keeper Marethari regarding the Arulin'Holm, and she couldn't help but wonder when, or _if_ that would happen.

Misery heard the soft footfalls of the barefooted elf approaching from behind, and as if reading her thoughts gestured at the partial mirror without looking back. "I haven't forgotten this…" she said in a quiet tone weighed down by fatigue. "We'll go once I'm healthy enough to make the trip. Assuming you still want to."

"Oh… yes, I do. I didn't…" Merrill trailed off without voicing her doubt. "Ma serannas."

Misery continued to stare ahead. "You sound as if you doubted I would keep my word."

"No!" Merrill exclaimed much louder than she intended. "It- it's not that. I just thought… no… I suppose you are right… I did fear you would change your mind, though I swear I had not considered it as breaking a promise."

Merrill shifted uncomfortably when Misery neither said anything in reply nor turned to face her. To finally break the lingering silence, she changed the subject, saying, "I-I suppose I will go see what I have in the pantry. I was not expecting company, but I believe I can put together a meal for two."

"Don't trouble yourself," Misery said as she spun and strode past the elf into the front room. "I'm more tired than hungry. I'll just curl up in a chair and go to sleep."

"I… I am not supposed to let you do that."

When Misery glanced back, Merrill averted her eyes to the floor. "What I mean is, Varric made me promise I would ensure you had a meal this evening. He said if it was necessary, I should remind you of what your mother said… except he didn't actually tell me what it was she said, so I can't very well do that. But I suppose you know what is meant by that… and that I am rambling."

Misery sighed, though the response was just as much a reaction to Merrill's obvious anxiety as it was to the message itself. The elf's demeanor wasn't filling her with confidence that their needed talk would end well, and it was important to Misery for this not to end badly.

For many people, any friendly acquaintance was a 'friend'. However, that wasn't Misery Hawke. On the contrary, 'friend' was a term loaded with meaning to her, and she counted only Varric, Merrill, and Aveline as such. Friendship wasn't disposable. It weathered nearly any storm save outright betrayal. And she didn't know whether to blame herself or Merrill for the elf not understanding that about her.

"Ma nuvenin…" she finally mumbled in resignation while easing herself slowly into a chair. "I won't argue."

Merrill looked up and frowned at the painstaking movements of the rogue, who was grimacing despite herself as she attempted to get comfortable. "You are hurting. Take my bed, please. Rest while I prepare dinner and I will wake you once it's ready."

Misery wanted to object to Merrill blatantly ducking the conversation they needed to have, but held her tongue. With the elf's overly tentative demeanor quickly raising Misery's frustration level, a tactical withdrawal in favor of a nap was the better option. However, as she got to her feet the painful cramping in her legs forced her to reconsider that plan.

"Will you cast a healing spell on my legs? I could really do with some relief."

"O-oh… ummm… sure, if you want."

"Is that a problem now?" Misery asked, flashing an annoyed glare.

"No! It-it's not that. I just thought… you would rather me… not touch you. I mean, I-I know you are unhappy with me for…" She trailed off and took a step towards the rogue before being halted by an outburst.

"You know _nothing_, bel'sorn da'len!" Misery exclaimed. The irritability she'd battled all day was once again pushing itself to the forefront. "I am _unhappy_ at your apparent lack of faith in me! I am _unhappy _that you are behaving as if you'd rather be anywhere else in Thedas right now than here with me!"

The shock that flashed across Merrill's face quickly dissolved into anger. "Bel'sorn da'len?" she asked incredulously, pointing a finger. "I do not know who taught you that, but you will _not _come into my home and use the language of my people to insult me! Nor will you call me a _stupid child_ as if I have no cause to be wary of your temper! I already know!"

"What exactly do you think you know?"

"Just forget it, alright? It doesn't matter anymore. Varric already made sure to pass along what you think of me."

Misery ran her fingers through her hair, ready to tear it out despite her uncertainty over the elf's accusation. "I haven't spoken my thoughts or feelings to Varric. Whatever he said to you, it did _not _come from me."

"You really didn't put him up to speaking with me?"

"Why would I? Have you ever known me to ask someone else to handle my problems for me?"

"No…" Merrill admitted, frowning. Her eyes closed. "And I-I am sorry… for being a 'problem' to you."

Misery let out a scream in frustration, startling the elf. "That isn't what I meant!" With the wave of a hand she continued, "Perhaps 'stupid' was a poor choice of words, but my Dalish is rather limited and I don't know how to say 'frustrating'. You are fretting like a child expecting to be punished and trying to put it off as long as possible. There is no need for that! Besides, you have to know that if I was going to kill you I'd already have done it."

"I am s-sorry… I do not… I don't know what to say. Or what it is it you wish me to say." She wrung her hands nervously while directing her eyes at her feet.

Misery took and released a long breath, willing herself to calm down. She was aware that her own volatile mood wasn't helping the situation.

"Fine…" she muttered. "I don't believe you're being honest with me, but I'm not going to play this game all night. So I'll be direct. Why did you kiss me?"

"O-oh… ummm… yes, that is… rather direct, isn't it?"

The elf sighed in resignation when Misery merely shrugged. "I was afraid of… losing you. It had already been an emotional day, and I just got caught up in the moment and it happened. I swear to you, I was as surprised as you were that I did it."

"The way you have avoided me since then, I find it hard to believe that's all there was to it."

"You are… not wrong to think that. Misery, I… this is all so… so confusing to me. I-I love you… though I am uncertain to what extent. I thought I knew, but not anymore. I have little experience with these types of feelings. Women are not even physically appealing to me. I just-"

"Hold up – you _do _realize I'm a woman, right?"

Merrill blushed before realizing by Misery's expression that she was being sarcastic. "I am well aware of that," she answered. "I am also aware how much of a contradiction that makes all of this seem."

Though reminded of her own contradiction earlier in the day with Varric, Misery didn't feel like sharing that particularly story at the moment. She instead settled for a nod in acknowledgment.

"I can't explain why it is different with you," Merrill continued. "And you would not be the first to think me crazy for it. Isabela teases me even while patiently listening to my rambling and offering advice. Or answering my sometimes… embarrassing questions. I am grateful for her counsel though. She's the only one I can really talk to. Well, other than you that is. She encouraged me to… to finally act on my feelings. Not that it seems to have worked out very well."

Misery stared curiously at the elf. She could only imagine the things Isabela had filled her head with. "How long exactly have you felt this way about me?"

"I… I am not sure. Perhaps a couple of years. There wasn't a sudden moment of realization. Creators, I didn't even know how… intimacy… worked between two women. Isabela had to explain it to me. Shows how much thought I had ever given such a thing."

"I'm surprised Isabela didn't offer a hands-on demonstration."

Merrill blushed slightly. "Sh-she did. Offer, I mean. I didn't… she is beautiful, but I didn't want to with her. She explained it in a lot of detail though." The tips of the elf's ears began to redden. "A _lot_ of detail. D-did you know there were… erm… toys for that sort of thing? I didn't."

Misery's left eyelid twitched. "That… that is not something I care to think about."

"Oh, of c-course… sorry."

"So…"

Merrill sighed as she shook her head. "I suppose it matters little now, but I am not sure I even know what I want. Kissing you didn't… feel like I imagined it would. I've wondered if that was because of the circumstances at the time, or if there was another reason. I… I don't suppose you… you would let me try again to see, would you?"

It was Misery's turn to shake her head. "Merrill, look… you are on a _very_ short list of people who are dear to me, people I would do nearly anything for. But I can't return the kind of affection you are seeking. I'm simply not capable of those feelings for another woman – _any_ woman. I know to people like Isabela… Anders… Fenris… love is love, sex is sex, and gender doesn't matter. Whatever, that's their business. But I'm not built that way. Truth be told, I find the thought of having sex with another woman to be rather repulsive."

Misery waited for Merrill to make eye contact before continuing, "Anyway… I just want… my friend, without this… awkwardness between us. Please don't push me away because I can't give you more."

Merrill nodded after wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I-I understand…"

"What happens now?" Misery asked after nearly a minute elapsed without Merrill saying anything further. "You say you understand, but that doesn't tell me if you can be content with it, or if you'd prefer me to leave now and never return."

"No!" Merrill said, quickly shaking her head. "I don't want you to leave. Nor would I forsake your friendship. I will not lie… I am… disappointed, but I find myself… relieved as well. I feared you would hate me, or at least no longer feel comfortable with me around."

"I hardly think this was as bad as the time you nearly took my arm off, or the time you nearly siphoned the life out of me with blood magic."

"I-I suppose not…"

Misery sighed lightly. For different reasons her own reaction was a mixture of disappointment and relief as well. Her lingering tension was draining off with Merrill seemingly accepting what she could offer, yet it also bothered her that Merrill had so badly underestimated her loyalty.

"Misery?" Merrill asked when several long moments went by in silence. "If you still want it, my healing magic is yours."

The rogue nodded. "My legs are killing me… the rest of me isn't doing much better. I wasn't lying earlier about wanting to curl up and sleep."

"I-I am sorry for keeping you from that."

"Don't be," Misery began while gesturing for Merrill to follow her towards the bedroom. "If it wasn't obvious, Varric didn't stick around because he knew I wanted to talk to you. I'm glad we were able to… sort things out."

"Me too…"

Despite the affirmation, Merrill inwardly questioned if it was that easy. Intellectual understanding didn't conveniently make her feelings go away. That would take time.

-==0==-

Misery awoke to the murmur of voices coming from the other room. The absence of natural light made time of day difficult to judge, though she was fairly certain it was the following morning. She remained in Merrill's bed while waiting for her eyes adjust, then took a few minutes to stare at the Hawke poppet and reflect on the previous day before rising and making her way back to the main room.

"She lives!" Varric called out with a laugh.

The female rogue rolled her eyes. "I'm too stubborn to die, remember?"

"The scary thing is you probably believe that."

Merrill rose from her seat at the table. "I saved lunch for you. Give me a few minutes to warm it."

"Lunch?"

"Yes, well… Varric pestered me until I gave him your breakfast."

The dwarf shrugged in response to Misery's questioning expression. "Why let it go to waste? It's not like we'd get two meals down you in one sitting anyway."

"I'd say I'm surprised I slept so long, but it'd be a lie," Misery said while easing into the chair across the table from Varric that Merrill vacated. "Sleeping seems to be what I do best these days. I take it you've been waiting a while?"

"Don't worry about that. It gave Daisy and me a chance to talk about you."

"Oh? Gossiping about me behind my back are you?"

Varric chuckled at both the remark itself and the yawn that escaped her lips immediately afterward. "Something like that. You awake enough to talk shop?"

"I'm fine, though I'm tempted to promise Merrill anything if she'll get Anders to teach her that rejuvenation spell of his. I could use that kind of boost."

Merrill closed her eyes and sighed. She could guess that Misery didn't mean anything by it, but that didn't prevent the thought that what she'd wanted had already been denied, nor the brief swell of negative emotion that accompanied the thought.

"Funny you mention Blondie," Varric replied. "I went by his place last night to update him on your condition and see if he had any idea why you weren't getting better."

"So what did he say after he stopped laughing?"

"Don't be like that, Miz. Not only did he drop everything to come help you when I first told him what happened, he put in a lot of work on you the first couple of days. The least you could do is appreciate that."

Misery smirked. "A little defensive are we? Fine…"

"He's my friend, and that means something to me. You, of all people, should know that. And I _know _you don't need me to recount the shit he's done for you in the past."

Misery glanced down at her partial right hand and sighed lightly. "Your point is made… continue."

"Anyway, he suspects you're still carrying the poison. Apparently magic-resistant poison isn't unheard of. Considering the Qunari attitude towards magic, it's highly probable their saar-qamek is intentionally like that."

Merrill nodded as she placed a bowl and mug in front of Misery. "I arrived at that conclusion as well after you retired last night," she added while stifling a yawn of her own. "I believe the answer is to formulate an antidote to counteract the poison… but I am afraid that without knowing the specific components that were used, I am at a loss on where to begin. Even if we had the Qunari formula, identifying and obtaining what we need for an antidote might prove difficult."

"Maybe so," Varric answered with a shrug, "but think about it – what has Misery ever gotten us into that _wasn't _difficult?"

"That is… a very good point," Merrill admitted while taking another seat at the table.

Varric stuck his tongue out at Misery, prompting her to roll her eyes and take another bite. However, despite her flippant response and almost indifferent demeanor, Varric recognized the slight furrowing of her brow and guessed she was intently processing the new information. Either that or concentrating on not revealing the discomfort with eating she'd mentioned having the previous day.

He gave her a moment before continuing, "We can go after the elf and convince her to cough up the saar-qamek formula, or go talk to your friend the Arishok again. It's not like the formula is a big secret anymore, and it should hardly matter anyway since the poison isn't a threat to them. So under the circumstances, maybe he'd be willing to give you a copy."

"Doubtful," Misery replied. "It doesn't matter if saar-qamek is a threat to the Qunari. It's a weapon they use against other races. Why would the Arishok support us _bas _attempting to neutralize that? From his perspective it'd have to seem all risk and no benefit."

"Still…"

Misery held up her hand to interrupt. "_Still_… other than the effort of walking to the other side of Lowtown, it won't hurt to at least ask him." Another thought came to mind. "There's also… you remember Tomwise? He specialized in poison making. I haven't seen him in years though. If he's still in the game, he's the type that would go out of his way to get information about the saar-qamek, for professional pride and bragging rights if nothing else."

"Tomwise is still doing his thing in Darktown," Varric replied, explaining, "I usually pass by his, eh, place of business on my way to Blondie's. Good thinking, that's another possibility if we strike out with the Arishok."

As Misery nodded in acknowledgment, her eyes went distant while her thoughts turned to her old friend. As rough as the first year was in Kirkwall for the Hawke sisters, it would have been much worse without Tomwise's advice and guidance along the way. She felt a little guilty for having made so little effort to stay in contact with him.

Varric left her to her thoughts for a few minutes before clearing his throat. "Uhhh… it might be a longshot, but Blondie suggested making an inquiry with the Circle." He ignored the open scoffing of the Dalish woman sitting next to him, already having heard her less than enthusiastic opinion on asking the Circle for help. Instead of responding to her, he continued, "There's that herbalist guy, Sol, over at the Gallows."

"The asshole that has an unholy interest in spider guts?"

The dwarf laughed at her assessment of the mild-mannered Formari herbalist. "That would be the guy… hmmm, come to think of it, you've told him off every time you've talked to him. Yeah, not sure how helpful he'd be either. But I'm thinking I won't take you with me if I end up going over there to see him about this."

Merrill watched Misery while Varric continued to chatter about the logistics and his plans to enlist the others to work the different angles. The elf couldn't help but notice a level of discomfort that seemed to have little to do with her physical health.

"Misery, are you alright? You seem as if something is bothering you."

Misery shook her head slightly. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing…"

"Talk to us," Varric said. "If you don't like the plan, or think we should handle this differently, just say so."

"I said it's nothing, so let it go." She reinforced her words with a penetrating stare before allowing her expression to soften. "What you two have said makes a lot of sense, as does the plan. Dumar is pressuring Aveline to uncover the source of the Qunari plot, so she already has people looking for the elf and whoever is behind her. If they find her first, great. If not, we can leverage any leads they've come up with."

Misery took and released a deep breath. "I need to say- no, I _want _to say… I'm sorry. I should have told you guys what was going on with me when I first realized I wasn't getting any better. The two of you figured out in what, a few hours, what I hadn't in a week? Anyway… I appreciate it. More than just the help… being there for me. Thank you."

Varric asked, "Is that also a promise to stop hiding shit like this from us?" before winking.

"I didn't _hide _anything. I'm simply used to handling my own problems, so the thought doesn't cross my mind to ask for help until I've exhausted my own efforts."

"Promise to try?" Merrill asked hopefully. "I mean, try to think of asking for help sooner?"

Misery sighed. "I can give you guys that much."

Varric leaned over and clapped Merrill on the back. "Nice negotiating work, getting that much of a concession out of her. You know, I'd send you to the Guild meetings on my behalf, except I don't think most of those curmudgeonly copper pinchers would go for the whole pretty little elf batting her eyes routine."

Merrill blushed. "Umm, well, thank you anyway… I-I suppose."

Misery let her spoon drop into the bowl of half-eaten soup and began to push away from the table. "I'll get ready and we'll go see the Arishok."

Before she could stand, both dwarf and elf put a halt to it.

"Finish your lunch," Varric said at the same moment Merrill said, "You really should eat more."

Misery glared at both of them. "I already have a mother. I don't need two more."

Varric chuckled. "Hey, we're just following Mama Hawke's orders to stay on you to take care of yourself. You want to object, take it up with her."

The female rogue glared a moment longer before closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Did I mention I hate you both?"

Betraying her words was the thin smile that briefly passed over her lips as she scooted her chair forward, picked up the spoon, and resumed eating. The crack in her façade didn't go unnoticed by either of her friends, who settled for exchanging knowing smiles of their own rather than calling her on it.

-==0==-

Merrill closed her eyes briefly as the last card fell. She'd lost again. She forced a smile as she reopened her eyes and stared across the table at the Rivaini, though the heavy sadness behind her smile was readily apparent.

"Congratulations…" she offered half-heartedly.

Isabela laughed lightly while scooping her winnings off the table. She turned over in her hand the Dalish pendant that the elf had used to raise the final bet after running out of coin. A very brief appraisal told her that the pendant was nearly worthless in terms of the actual raw materials, which were mostly bits of shell and a small amount of silver. Rather the intrinsic value of the pendant lay in the intricacy of the design and the meticulous attention to detail. It had clearly been a labor of love to whoever made it. And judging from the elf's forlorn expression, it was clearly more valuable to her than any price it would fetch.

Isabela could relate though. Not only were her own people renowned for their handcrafted trinkets, but even after all these years she still had a couple of pieces from her youth that she would be loath to part with under any circumstances.

She sighed, shaking her head slightly while sliding the pendant back across the table. "Kitten, haven't I told you not to bet anything you aren't prepared to lose? Keep your pendant."

"I know… but I really thought I would win this time. I suppose I got caught up in the excitement of it. Ma serannas."

"And you probably would have won if I hadn't cheated. Still, there is only one unbeatable hand, and that's not what you had here. Look, not everyone is going to cut you a break just because you give them the sad puppy eyes."

"You cheated?"

Isabela laughed at the girl's hurt expression. "Consider it another lesson. Where I come from, cheating is the game within the game, and only the naïve believe everything is on the up and up. You ever hear the saying about the naïve and their coin?"

Merrill nodded. "Varric told me once… a fool and their money are soon parted. I wish I wasn't always seen as the fool."

The Rivaini's expression turned more serious. "Kitten, if you haven't figured it out, I'm teaching you a life lesson here. I'll also teach you a couple of my tricks, but to be a successful cheat you need to be able to spot a cheat. So next hand pay closer attention and figure out how I'm doing it."

"Oh… I'm not sure if I… I mean, I only play with you and the others… I couldn't cheat my friends."

"Even Anders?" Isabela asked, grinning wickedly.

"Well… _maybe _him," she replied, causing Isabela to laugh again as she began shuffling the cards.

The hand ended with Isabela winning again. She grinned at the frowning girl. "Well?"

"I tried watching closely, but… I didn't notice anything unusual while we were playing."

"That's because the fix was already in before we started laying down cards," Isabela said while shuffling again. "Ready for me to deal another hand?" she asked a few moments later.

"I… I suppose so."

Isabela shook her head. She began dealing, except this time in slow motion and lying the cards down on the table face up. Merrill's eyes grew wide as she saw the results. Isabela had dealt Merrill a great hand off the top of the deck, but dealt herself an even better one off the bottom.

"Kitten," Isabela explained, "you _never _let the dealer pass out cards without the deck being cut. And you _never _take your eyes off their hands as they shuffle and deal. Players who relax between hands, or are distracted by the table talk going on between hands are ripe for the picking. Another word of advice – don't let someone shuffle and deal you a hand while you're away from the table. If you need to go to the loo, sit out the next hand."

"I understand."

Isabela nodded in approval while taking up the cards. "Good. This time I'll cheat while we're playing." With a wink she added, "Catch me if you can."

The Rivaini's sleight of hand lessons continued until Misery and Revas arrived.

"Are you alright?" Merrill asked the scowling female approaching the table. She hoped the scowl wasn't directed at her. Despite the patching up of their relationship after Merrill's unfortunate kiss and then more recently after Merrill selfishly guilted into Misery into a bad decision, the elf was still struggling not to take personally any expression of negativity from Misery.

"I'm always alright," Misery answered with a dismissive wave of a hand. "Varric not here?"

"Yes, he is upstairs. He said he needed some… alone time… with Bianca, so I waited for you down here."

Misery nodded. "You two at a stopping point?"

"Oh, we weren't really playing. Isabela was teaching me how to- oww!" She glared slightly at the Rivaini while rubbing her shoulder.

"Cheat?" Misery filled in. She rolled her eyes when Merrill's blush confirmed it.

Isabela sighed. "Don't be such a bore, Misery. It's a useful skill."

"Don't think I'm disagreeing. Besides, I've watched you do it enough to know you're damned good at it." A smirk crept across her lips as she took in her fellow rogue's expression of surprise. "Just because I've never cared enough to call you on it doesn't mean I haven't noticed. I'm also smart enough to guess that for every one time I've caught you, there have probably been ten other times I haven't." She turned away without waiting for a response.

After watching her and Revas head upstairs, Isabela chuckled and motioned for Merrill to follow.

This was another little incident where she could see her younger self in Hawke. Well, other than that Isabela wouldn't have revealed the knowledge of her cheating until a time when it was profitable to do so.

A side effect of the numerous conversations with Merrill about Misery was Isabela spending more time thinking about the rogue than she ordinarily would have. Misery might be a bitch, but she was a skilled, quick thinking, reliable bitch. Isabela had concluded that in a different time and place she might have taken the girl under her wing. After all, there was definitely a place for that on her crew, perhaps even as her first mate/quartermaster.

That was a ship that had already sailed though. Even if she cared enough to get past Misery's high maintenance personality, Isabela knew that the real truth of why both she and the Qunari were stuck in Kirkwall was too large of a divide to bridge - a divide only increasing as Misery got more and more swept up in a conflict largely of Isabela's making.

In the years the Rivaini had been in Kirkwall, the effort she'd put out to get her hands on the relic again had ebbed and flowed. At times it nearly consumed her, though that wasn't something she let on to others. There were also times when she'd all but decided to chance stealing a boat, sailing to Antiva, and killing Castillon just to be done with it.

Holding her back was the knowledge that she'd never reach him. Castillon had too many eyes watching her. He hadn't come to Kirkwall personally – yet – but beginning years earlier with Hayder and in the years since then he'd made it abundantly clear that she'd never be free of him until she delivered that damned relic. Every so often she would be approached by one of his people, and it was always the same. Subtle or not so subtle threats under the pretense of reminders regarding her obligation, and letting her know that Castillon at all times had several others in Kirkwall silently keeping tabs on her. So killing his messengers was useless. As was trying to flee Kirkwall for some other distant shore.

Sometimes she wondered if someone else had already recovered the relic for Castillon and he was merely toying with her for his own amusement. Regardless, she was stuck until she could either prove that or come up with the relic herself. Given the rising tensions in the city, she hoped whoever either had the relic or had knowledge of it would panic and bring it to light. And then she would be there to take advantage.

-==0==-

Varric sighed as he finished re-reading the letter he was sending to Sunshine. He didn't know if the Grey Wardens would have any answers either, but they were running out of options and at this point it couldn't hurt to ask. Well, it could he supposed, if they disregarded his warnings and actually tried to use the saar-qamek formula. That thought brought a scowl to his face, and he grabbed his quill again.

_I mean it, Sunshine. Don't let anyone make this shit. And don't get any crazy ideas about using it against darkspawn. It'll kill you first. Just burn the formula once you're done with it. _

Varric set the quill aside once again and fell into thought. Hopefully it would be a moot point by the time Sunshine received his letter.

The two weeks since learning the truth of Misery's health had been a whirlwind of activity and emotion. Some of it he'd been present for, some of it he'd either inferred or gotten after the fact through second hand information. With the entire gang recruited to the cause, it practically felt like old times working the _job_ around the city. Not that under the circumstances there was much in the way of feel-good reminiscing going on. The lack of results ensured the collective mood remained sober.

The follow up meeting with the Arishok turned out to be a bust. It wasn't because he refused the request, however, but because of the condition he placed on his agreement – for Misery to convert to the Qun in exchange for the saar-qamek formula. Varric had been surprised Misery contemplated it for as long as she did before walking away.

Other pathways also led to dead ends. The Formari herbalist, Solivitus, had no useful insight to offer. He did, however, manage to infuriate Merrill with his insensitive exuberance while attempting to convince her to supply him with Dalish vallaslin ink. Varric didn't think to ask her after he stopped laughing, but he guessed the hostile barrage of elven words that poured out of Daisy's mouth before she stormed off wasn't far off in meaning from the parting shots Misery had left Sol with in the past.

Another day saw them visit Misery's old friend Tomwise, hoping he would know something about the saar-qamek. Instead they found him suspiciously uncomfortable with the subject and too quick in his claims of ignorance. To Varric's surprise, she didn't press the issue. When Tomwise offered a weak promise to let her know if anything came up, she merely shook her head in resignation and turned away. Without looking back she replied that she trusted him enough to assume his reasons for holding out on her were more than mere coin. The elven hustler remained silent.

The City Guard fared no better in its attempt to locate the elf Misery encountered while dealing with the outbreak or determine who specifically was behind her. The few clues they'd been able to uncover yielded no concrete evidence, but kindled a growing suspicion that a fanatical element within the Chantry was involved – an element that was at minimum was exploiting the incident to sow seeds of discontent, if not turning outright militant. But so far that hadn't led to anyone who could or would provide more than rumor or innuendo.

Though the Chantry's official stance remained unchanged, there had been a marked increase in unofficial literature circulating the city and unsanctioned street preaching since the saar-qamek incident. The common themes were an admonishment of Chantry and City leadership for tacitly endorsing the Qunari presence and influence through inaction, and calling the citizens of Kirkwall to action.

To Misery's irritation, there also seemed to be an attempt to draw a connection between her role in stopping the saar-qamek outbreak and this emerging resistance movement. Not only was the implication completely false, the last thing she needed right now was to be portrayed as the public face of something likely to provoke the wrath of the Qunari, the Chantry, and the Viscount's office.

Grand Cleric Elthina acknowledged the situation, but dismissed the notion that it required official investigation and intervention. As far as she was concerned, these were the misguided actions of a small minority that even fewer took seriously. And on a personal level, she also didn't believe Leandra's daughter was involved in such seditious activity.

Nevertheless, Misery was left trying to avoid being caught in the undertow of the growing civil unrest.

It was shortly after meeting with the Grand Cleric that the big break came in the search for answers. That very night the Hawke household was awakened by the sound of one of the second story windows shattering. Amidst the broken glass on the hallway floor, Misery found a rock with a sheet of parchment wrapped around and tied to it. The anonymous note was brief, containing only a Lowtown address and a grammatically incorrect '_The one your looking for'._

Over her mother's protestations regarding the uncertain note, the dubious delivery method, and the very late hour, Misery didn't hesitate to gear up and go.

Varric wasn't any more thrilled with being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night than Aveline, Fenris, Varric, and Isabela had been, but he understood why she didn't want to wait until morning. And he appreciated that she actually asked for help rather than going it alone.

They arrived at the small Lowtown shanty well before dawn. Finding it locked, Aveline insisted on knocking first, an act which drew ample groans and eye rolling from the three rogues in the group. When no answer came, however, Aveline relented to Misery picking the lock. Varric, Isabela, and Fenris went around back and entered from there while Aveline and Revas followed Misery in.

The two groups converged in the small kitchenette to find a dead elven woman on the floor. Misery couldn't be positive given the influence of saar-qamek on her at the time of their first meeting, but she was reasonably sure it was the same elf. There was no sign of struggle – no overturned furniture, nothing knocked off of countertops or tables on to the floor. In fact, the only mess was where the blood from the puncture wound in the back of the woman's neck pooled around her lifeless body.

After a check of the other rooms revealed no other occupants, the focus shifted to finding information. To both their surprise and suspicion, Misery found the saar-qamek formula tucked into pocket of the elf's tunic. _Too_ convenient. Adding even more intrigue to the situation, it was immediately apparent that this was the original stolen formula – written in Qunlat – with common language translations written in the margins by a different hand.

Literacy in Qunlat wasn't exactly commonplace in Kirkwall outside of the Qunari themselves, a fact that limited the potential players in the game. Aveline wondered aloud if it was an inside job, or perhaps even Tal-Vashoth, which might explain how the thieves even knew where to find the formula. Fenris quickly shot down that theory. He couldn't see a Qunari undermining the Arishok, and consequently the Qun itself, and also suggested the Tal-Vashoth wouldn't concern themselves with the politics between their former brethren and the city.

Varric agreed that it didn't really fit the way the Qunari handled their business, while Isabela didn't care other than to suggest they not bother telling the Arishok that they recovered the formula. When everyone turned to Misery, she pointed out that if it had been an inside job, the thieves should have known the difference between gaatlok and saar-qamek. Clearly this elf and whoever she worked for hadn't.

That led them to the conclusion that the translation was the work of someone with access to scholarly resources and/or education not commonly available, with the Circle of Magi and the Chantry being the two most probable locations for such resources. Given the convenient timing of the anonymous tip following her meeting with the Grand Cleric, they all suspected the latter.

Varric also suspected that despite having felt as if their ongoing search had been akin to stumbling in the dark, they must have gotten closer to the source than they realized, close enough for whoever it was to sacrifice the elf and plant the formula for her to find.

Regardless, as far as Misery was concerned the person responsible had succeeded in getting her off their trail. Restoring her health was her focus, which meant getting the formula to Anders and Merrill and seeing what they could do with it. Anything else could wait.

However, neither mage was able to turn the formula into a cure. That would have been too easy. After a few days of research, Merrill felt that she was close, but there was something missing that she couldn't put her finger on. She finally suggested that they go speak with Keeper Marethari. It was a suggestion that made a lot of sense, but the elf's insistence that Misery make the journey was met with universal skepticism.

As Varric pointed out, just climbing the stairs to Hightown left Misery physically spent. Asking her to scale the highest peak in the Free Marches seemed like lunacy. Anders didn't think Misery really needed to be present for Marethari to help them, and cynically suggested that she'd slow them down to the point where she wouldn't actually get a potential cure any quicker by coming along.

Fenris was even more pointed in his criticism. Misery wasn't Misery these days, at least not when it came to handling physical contact. She was a liability. He reminded them that while in Darktown pursuing a lead on the mystery elf involved with the saar-qamek outbreak, Misery, Varric, Merrill, Fenris, and Revas had been jumped by a group of Carta dwarves who recognized the raven haired rogue. Misery's mind might have been game, but her body wasn't up to the challenge. Moving at a sloppy three-quarter speed, she was quickly overwhelmed.

For a while it was all the others could do to rally around her and keep her alive. Dividing their attention further compromised their fighting, and they'd all suffered wounds by the time the remaining few Carta thugs fled the scene. The unspoken understanding afterward had been that they needed to avoid conflict not only for her sake, but for their own.

Despite the negative reactions, Merrill continued to insist that Misery go with them and appealed to Isabela for support. The Rivaini shrugged before staking the dagger she was polishing into the top of Varric's table and stating that she didn't get the point of arguing about what Misery was or wasn't going to do. She was going to do what she wanted anyway. That did little to ease Merrill's anxiousness.

Misery had silently taken in the entire _debate_ without revealing any emotion. Inwardly, however, she fumed at the blunt assessments of her capabilities – anger mostly directed at herself for being in such a helpless state to begin with. Intermingled with the anger was disappointment in Merrill. Misery knew why it was so important to Merrill for her to go to Sundermount, and that the reason had little to do with the issue of Misery's health. Still, she didn't feel like she was in a position say no. So she reluctantly agreed.

Amid the less than enthusiastic body language in response to her decision, Merrill made the mistake of appearing smug about getting her way. Misery lit into her, telling her that she knew this was really about her broken mirror, that she knew Merrill was using this as an excuse to get her in front of Keeper Marethari regardless of the risk and physical cost involved. And she told Merrill in front of the others that she was letting her get away with it anyway, for no other reason than she felt obligated to after everything Merrill had done for her.

The accusation stung Merrill, who wanted to deny the charge but couldn't. Not that Misery gave her a chance. The rogue glanced around the room and said she needed a few days to prepare for the trip, gave a meeting time for anyone willing to make the journey, and then quickly took her leave.

Before the elven mage could make herself scarce as well, Varric told her that he didn't know if what Misery had said was true or not, but he did know that she wouldn't needlessly risk any of them. So if she truly believed Misery needed to be there when they talked to the keeper about the saar-qamek antidote, he was going to trust her on it.

His seemingly innocent, encouraging remarks had just the effect he was going for. The elf left feeling guilty enough to go straight to the Hawke estate. Varric heard later how she caught up with Misery and Revas even before they reached Hightown. And how Misery being Misery, she didn't have much to say beyond acknowledging the apology, but Merrill had seen the clear expression of relief on her face at being let off the hook for Sundermount.

Merrill admitted to Varric that she was disappointed Misery backed out, even though she gave Misery that choice. She also admitted that Misery later reiterating her promise to go speak with the keeper about the Arulin'Holm once she was healthy only made her feel a little better. It wasn't that she didn't believe Misery. It was that she was beyond frustrated with the broken eluvian and the tool needed to fix it being held out of reach.

Varric offered to relay a message to the keeper from Misery if she thought it would help. Merrill supposed it wouldn't hurt, though she was skeptical as to how much of a difference it would make.

That took them to the current situation, waiting for Misery to come by with the letter for Marethari in advance of their departure the following morning.

Varric sighed deeply once again. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised given how much was going on, but Misery hadn't brought back up the subject of their relationship or given him any indication as to what her answer was going to be. He'd meant what he told her about being willing to give her all the time she needed to sort through things, but that didn't prevent him from becoming anxious to know one way or another.

He grabbed his quill off the table and dipped it into the inkwell.

_By the way, I finally told your sister I want more than her friendship. Yeah, go ahead and laugh and say I told you so… you know I would too. Anyway, she didn't gut me and even said my interest wasn't unwelcome, but she also wasn't ready to give me an answer. Truthfully, I think something is holding her back, something more than the stuff with her health. I have my suspicions, but that's all they are. We'll see._

_Before I forget, the broody elf asked me to thank you for your last letter and to wish you well. Of course, the spoilsport also says someone other than me is going to read him your letters in the future. Sue me for spicing up the boring parts! I guess I should've known he'd get suspicious and take the letter to Aveline for a second reading. Hmph… I still say burning with lust was much more interesting than burning darkspawn._

_It's funny, you know. Once upon a time he looked out for you only out of respect for Misery. Now he looks out for her only out of respect for you. _

Varric was just beginning to write his closing when the sounds of a lumbering mabari drew his attention. His owner's near silent footfalls brought her into view a moment later. Varric's eyebrows rose at the curious sight.

"Been awhile since I've seen you carry that bow. If you're trying to bring back your old look of shadowy danger though, actually stringing it would help."

Misery rolled her eyes, though the effect was lost with them shadowed by her hood. "Would it surprise you to know I miss the days when my appearance made people leery enough to keep their distance? Maybe it only seems this way, but I swear these days everyone knows who I am."

She took a few moments to unstrap the Arlathan elven longbow from her back. "I'm sending this with you," she said as she laid it on the table.

"Why's that?" he asked while nodding at the arrival of Daisy and Rivaini.

"It's nothing but a wall decoration for me to dust. Junar hasn't hidden his appreciation of it the times I've been there, so I thought I'd let him have it. Maker knows he'd get more use out of the bow than I will anymore."

"So what are you writing?" Isabela asked the dwarf, abruptly changing the subject as she leaned over the table. "Finally getting around to telling us how Brennicovick is getting out of the Chantry without his trousers?"

Varric quickly flipped over the pages of his letter to Bethany. "Hey, no peeking!" he grumbled. "You have to wait like everyone else."

"But _Varric_…" Isabela whined, "It's been _ages_… come on, let me at least proofread it for you."

"What are you two talking about?" Misery asked.

"_Hard in Hightown_," Merrill explained. "It's quite exciting, though I admit finding it confusing sometimes. I do wish Varric would write faster though."

"Confusing?" Varric asked.

"Yes, well… the last chapter ended with Donnen Brennicovick about to plunge the sword of desire into Sister Agatha's molten sheath when Mother Edwina found them. Then he ran away without his trousers. So I wondered… why is his sword named 'Desire'? Why doesn't he have his own sheath for it? It would certainly be more convenient than borrowing one. And easier than keeping his sword in his trousers. I mean, I guessed that's why he needed to remove his trousers first, which upset Mother Edwina. But I got confused as to why Sister Agatha had a sheath in the first place. Does she- Oh! A Chantry sister with her own sword would probably be up to no good, wouldn't she? Is she a spy?"

Varric's mouth opened and closed but no words formed. For once he had no idea what to say.

Isabela laughed giddily at his reaction to the elf clearly missing the point. "Kitten, remind me later and I'll explain it to you," she said with a wink.

"O-oh! Wait, I… I missed something dirty again, didn't I?" She blushed slightly when Isabela merely winked again.

"Anyway…" Varric said, turning his attention back to Misery, "As you can see, my adoring fans tend to let me hear about it when I go too long between updates. Impatient readers are impatient, though I suppose I can't blame them for that. Donnen is just that good."

Misery raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Is this the same story you were writing even back when I first met you? The one Aveline has threatened to cut your balls off over - more than once - because her guards keep getting into fights about which one of them you're basing this Donnen character off of?"

"It's not the _same_ story…" Varric answered somewhat defensively. "Maybe if you read the series you'd actually know that." A moment later he changed his mind. "On second thought, it might be better if you don't read them."

"Oh, you haven't read the stories?" Merrill asked Misery. "I kind of thought you had… seeing as you often do things and kill people the way Donnen does."

Misery flashed a glare at the dwarf. "_Varric…_"

He coughed and awkwardly changed the subject. "Daisy, aren't weapons pretty personal to your people?" he asked while gesturing to the longbow on the table. "Call it a hunch, but I'm guessing Miz doesn't want Junar thinking this a marriage proposal or some shit like that."

The elf giggled at the thought. "Yes, weapons tend to be very personal, especially to the hunters, but no… he is not likely to see the gift as a dowry of sorts. I suppose I can explain that to him if necessary, though truth be told, I would rather not speak with him at all. He is not one of my favorite people."

Misery withdrew a sealed envelope from her pack. Handing it to Merrill, she said, "This is the letter for Keeper Marethari. I still don't understand why you think my request will carry any weight at all with her, let alone carry more weight than yours, but I did my best to argue on your behalf. And if simply asking doesn't work, I… offered to barter my service in exchange for allowing you to borrow the Arulin'Holm. Obviously I wouldn't be able to make good on it until I'm well again."

"Ma serannas… perhaps if it comes to that she will give _you _a more suitable task than she gave me." The bitterness in the elf's tone was clear as she continued, "What you are suggesting is very much in keeping with Dalish tradition. The clan's heirlooms are supposed to be available to any of us. That is our way. Keeper could not outright deny me the Arulin'Holm when I last asked, so she gave me an impossible task to accomplish the same."

Varric grinned. "What are the odds she'll ask Miz to clear out a bunch of fiends again? Or another den of giant spiders?"

"Ugh… don't even joke about spiders," Misery replied with a slight groan. She removed her cloak and tossed it over a chair before digging in her pack again. When she found what she was looking for she turned back towards the others. "

What?" she asked while setting a small box down on the table in front of Varric. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

The dwarf blinked. Having removed her hooded cloak he could see that not only had she gotten her hair cut and styled back to the way she wore it when they first met, but that she had gone so far as to take the time to apply makeup. Even though her face was still a bit gaunt from not having yet gained back enough of the weight she'd lost after the poisoning, he thought she was strikingly beautiful.

He recovered quickly though and chuckled. "Between the bow and the new old hairstyle you gave me a flashback. Come to think of it, we never did go back to The Black Emporium after the night you _acquired _the bow. I wonder if it's safe now. Xenon carried some nice stuff."

The smirk that formed on Misery's face disappeared when Varric opened the box in front of him and looked up in confusion. "Ummm… dog biscuits?"

"B-brownies…" she mumbled.

"Seriously? Where did you buy these? They look… not right."

Misery huffed. "Do brownies have to be perfect little squares or rectangles? So what if they're not exactly… symmetrical?"

Isabela snagged one from the box and popped it into her mouth. "Mmmm… I don't care what they look like. _Delicious_…" Merrill followed suit and mumbled in agreement with her mouth full.

Misery stared at Varric, waiting to see what he would do. He shook his head. "Clearly you ladies aren't the connoisseurs of confections that I am. Presentation matters, you know?"

"Forget it then," Misery said, snatching the box from the table. "I'll just give yours to Revas." The mabari barked in approval of that plan.

"Why are you getting upset?" Varric asked after watching her flip a brownie in the air that Revas caught and scarfed down.

Isabela laughed knowingly. "Misery, some words of wisdom from my mother - men are stupid."

"She clearly got that one right," Misery grumbled in response while tossing Revas another brownie.

Varric glanced back and forth between the two women, bemused by the reactions. It wasn't until Misery threw a third brownie to Revas that he noticed her expression had subtly shifted. She wasn't just agitated by his response, she was… disappointed?

"Awww…. shit…" he muttered as the proverbial light came on. "_You_ baked the brownies, didn't you?" He groaned in frustration with himself when she said nothing in response, which was just as much a confirmation as if she had replied.

"I… I didn't realize… I'm sorry for poking fun at them."

Misery handed the box to the Rivaini. "You two can finish them up."

"I didn't know you baked," Isabela said. "No offense, but I'd never have guessed you were the type."

"Bethany and Carver were both better at it than me, but growing up the way we did none of us could be helpless when it came to homemaking skills. I did my fair share of cooking, baking, sewing, cleaning, and so on."

"Ummm… can I have one, please?" Varric asked.

Misery glanced over at him. "No," she said matter-of-factly. "You made your opinion abundantly clear."

"Miz, I really _am _sorry."

"I know you are, and I accept your apology. But feeling guilty doesn't change what you think of my brownies, and you're not going to take one now just to be polite. If I make them again, I'll remember to pay more attention to the _presentation_."

He closed his eyes and sighed. He knew her well enough to guess that despite her calm demeanor, she was rather enjoying twisting the knife in deeper as payback. Still, under the circumstances there was little to do but take his beating.

Misery returned her attention to other two women. "All set for tomorrow? Anything else you need from me before you go?"

"I'm good," Isabela answered, "though I'm probably going to complain anyway about having to get up early."

"Me too," added Merrill. "I mean, about being good. Not the complaining part. I am usually up early."

Misery waved her hand to indicate it was no concern. "Thank you again for doing this for me. Hopefully it won't be a waste of your time." She glanced back to the dwarf briefly before continuing, "If you two don't mind, there is something I need to speak with Varric about."

Varric looked up at her curiously, but didn't say anything as the women made their parting comments and left. He watched Misery close the door behind them, and then cross the room and half sit, half flop on to his easy chair. She closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath.

"A half dozen templars came to my estate this morning," she said.

"Oh? Did you tell them they're a few years late on catching Sunshine?"

"They came for me."

"And? You're not a mage, at least that's what you told me."

Misery shook her head. "Remember Ser Emeric?" When the dwarf nodded she continued, "Yes, well, he's dead. And whoever offed him tried to pin it on me. The templar leading the investigation, Ser Moira, had a note written by me telling Emeric to meet me at a location in Darktown – the place they apparently found his corpse. Except I didn't write the note and hadn't had any contact with him since the day I… did that job."

"What did she say when you told her you hadn't written the note?"

"She didn't believe me at first. Fortunately I had plenty of samples of my handwriting around the house to show her it didn't match. She apologized for the misunderstanding and they left, but… I can't see this being the end of it. Maybe with this particular incident, but between this and that resistance movement garbage… I'm either someone's target, or someone's cover. And I can't decide which."

Varric nodded slowly. "Hmmm… are you sure they're related? I mean, you weren't exactly secretive about taking over his investigation. And we know the demons that blood mage was summoning came from some business deal he'd done. So isn't it possible whoever his partner was went after Emeric and then framed you for it?"

"I don't know, maybe. I just… I just have this feeling that pressure is building all around me, and I'm at a loss on how to stop it from crushing me. Varric… I'm considering… disappearing for a few months, to give this shit time to blow over."

"Tell me the truth, Hawke. Am I going to put out all this effort going to Sundermount for you, only to get back and find you're gone again?"

Misery shook her head. "No… Look, I already know you're not on board with that plan. But you have my word that I won't take off while you're away. It's not like I'd get very far like this anyway. I'm just going to try to keep a low profile, not get out in public much." Sarcastically she added, "Maybe I'll get caught up on some apparently long overdue reading."

Varric returned her sarcasm. "Good plan. It'll also give you plenty of time to practice cutting brownies properly."

"You're really going to go there?"

He laughed. "The hole I dug myself on that doesn't get any deeper. Might as well have fun with it now."

"What makes you think the hole doesn't get any deeper?"

"It's a dwarf thing. You know, being of the stone and all that good shit."

"Ahhh, that's right… I knew there was a reason they called you 'Digger'."

"And _you _are really going to go there again, Divine?"

Misery chuckled at the memory of their first journey to Sundermount and the nicknames neither had wanted. It also reminded her again how much he'd been there for her. "Thanks, V," she said while leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

"Ummm… okay… what for?"

She smiled. "You don't need to know. Just accept it and move on." Yawning, she added, "I'm going to sleep now. Don't mind me though, do whatever you need to do."

Varric shook his head at the non-answer, but chuckled anyway, at least until his thoughts were drawn back to the seriousness of her admission. He had his finger on the pulse of the city, and he could tell her that this shit wasn't going to simply blow over no matter how much she wished it. He could practically see the storm gathering on the horizon.

And that crushing pressure she was feeling? If his suspicions were correct, it was even bigger than she knew. It was that more than any other individual in Kirkwall, she was the one holding back the storm.

. . . . . . .

_AN: Special thanks to xseikax for her beta work and encouragement in general, and for her help figuring out some Dalish in the Misery/Merrill conversation specifically._


End file.
